


Deathless

by UltimateFandomTrash



Series: The Ascendancy Trials [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10th century farmers being sad, Abuse, Accidental Torture, Blood Drinking, Crowley and Feelings, Crowley is a badass, Dean likes objectifying himself, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Gen, Incest, Mentions of Rape, Not kidding, Pedophilia mention, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam gets hurt a lot, Sam is kind of scary, Slavery, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Winchester Man Pain, dark!Sam, seriously there's a lot of it, there's a demon with anger issues and bad aim, trapped in a bunker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 171,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: While sorting through the artifacts kept by the Men of Letters, Sam happens across a mysterious and powerful amulet. As he is pushed into using its dark powers he is forced to face his traumatizing past and forge the way into a possibly more terrifying future.





	1. Things That Go Bump in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While archiving some Men of Letters artifacts Sam finds a mysterious amulet, and he may be in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover made by me.

It was a relatively lazy day for the Winchester brothers. Things were quiet, no signs of supernatural activity, so Sam had decided to inventory some of the artifacts the Men of Letters had. Begrudgingly, Dean had agreed to help out as well, so now the two of them were in one of the storage rooms in the bunker, sorting through some of the chests it contained. It didn’t help that Dean was complaining every five seconds, but the work was getting done. Sam also thought it important that they were there to watch each other’s backs. They didn’t know what this stuff did, so if something went wrong, it’d be good to have the other one there.

“What the hell is this?” Dean asked.

When Sam turned to him his brother was holding up a round disc that seemed to be made out of jade. There was a hole directly in the middle that Dean was peering through.

He then passed it over to Sam who began to examine it for any markings.

“Huh,” he remarked, “I have no idea.”

“So, you gonna file that under things that are friggin’ weird?”

“I mean, we can at least describe it.”

Dean shrugged and went back to digging through the trunk in front of him while Sam put the jade disc down, picked up his journal and started writing about it. Then, something caught his eye. A faint, blueish-white light seemed to be filtering out from under some of the artifacts in the chest he’d been going through. Curiously, Sam put his journal down and then rifled around until he found the source of the light. It was a necklace of iron links, with a pendant hanging from it. The pendant was a gem, cut into the shape of a rhombus, and similarly set in iron. There was writing etched into the sides of it in a language Sam didn’t recognize. The glowing was coming from the gem itself, like some sort of energy; it swirled and danced lazily as if it had a life of its own.

He felt the sturdiness of his brother’s presence by his side, and he glanced at him. Dean was staring at the necklace in awe.

“What _is_ that?”

Sam’s voice was quiet when he said, “I don’t know.”

Dean reached out a finger to most likely poke the gem, and Sam pulled it out of his reach, shielding it with his free hand. “Whoa, Dean, don’t just poke it!” he exclaimed.

His older brother looked perplexed. “Why not?”

Sam scoffed at that. “Because we don’t know what it does. Do you wanna get yourself killed?”

“Not really, no.”

Sam then tilted his head at him sharply, a way to say that he’d proven his point. Dean just rolled his eyes at him and then went back to work. Sam on the other hand was studying the gem. It was mesmerizing, but something felt off about it. As he watched the light move within the gem he began to feel cold, unreasonably so, and a shiver went down his spine. He glanced over at Dean to see if he’d noticed, but he was too busy admiring a golden ring with runes etched into it. He looked back at the amulet, trying to decide what to do with it. Sorting it in a few of the categories he’d come up with didn’t seem like a good idea. Most of the things he’d come across seemed inactive, like they needed someone of a particular skill in order to work at all. But this one seemed to be seething with energy of its own.

Coming to a decision, Sam turned and started going through some drawers behind him. He thought he’d seen some velvet-lined pouches in one of them before.

After finding one, which was lined in black, he deposited the amulet into it, and the room grew a little darker without its light. He put it on a shelf for now, and went back to going through the chest in front of him. He let out a huff of a laugh when he held up the next object: a tablecloth.

“Hey, Dean,” he said, showing him the tablecloth, “I guess the Men of Letters liked having picnics.”

An amused smile lit Dean’s face, but then he said matter-of-factly, “Sam, you’re lame.”

A laugh left him, and he put the tablecloth down to pick up his journal again. Just as he was about to categorize the tablecloth under “Seemingly Normal” he heard something, almost like a whisper, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Did you hear that?” Sam asked.

“Hear what?”

Sam frowned in concentration, straining to hear the noise again, but all was silent.

He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess. Must be hearing things.”

Dean, who had sat himself down on the floor, looked up at Sam with a worried expression on his face.

“You okay?”

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” Sam admitted.

“Wanna talk about it? I could get you some coffee,” he offered.

He shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

Not having restful sleep didn’t bother Sam so much anymore. It was just something he was used to, an exhaustion he put up with. However, he didn’t believe his lack of sleep was the reason for hearing things.

They continued rifling through the artifacts, and they actually made a lot of progress. Sam was also relieved that they’d done so without either of them getting hurt. After Dean had started complaining again Sam decided that they’d done enough for now. Besides, it was just after noon, a perfect time for lunch. Before leaving the somewhat cramped storage room he grabbed the pouch he’d put the amulet in.

Dean gestured to it. “What’s that?”

“The amulet. I wanna study it some more.”

His brother gave him an affectionate smile. “Nerd.”

“I’m gonna put it in my room, then we can go get something to eat, okay?”

“Yup.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and Sam started to think that maybe he _had_ been hearing things earlier.

After changing into the pair of black sweatpants and gray shirt that served as his pajamas, he sat down at his desk, and switched his lamp on, bathing the pictures and notes he kept there in a golden glow. Now that he had a moment to himself he wanted to look at the amulet again. He got it out of the drawer he’d put it in, and then carefully slid it from the pouch onto his desk where it landed with a _clink_. The glow of the gem appeared to be more potent than before, and added with the light of his lamp Sam was temporarily blinded. He quickly switched his lamp off, leaving the glowing amulet as the only source of light.

Sitting there, looking at it, he began to have the desire to touch the gem. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was some childish part of him, his curiosity.

 _What harm could it do?_ he thought.

Hesitantly, he reached his hand out towards it. But then, a heavy wave of apprehension washed over him, knotting his stomach, and he froze. He didn’t understand why he had felt that. Maybe it was some deep-seated instinct, warning him.

Deciding to listen to the terrible feeling in his gut, Sam tried drawing his hand back.

It didn’t move.

Again and again he tried. And nothing happened. It was like his hand was frozen in place above the amulet. His hand seemed dangerously close to it as well, maybe only half an inch of distance between his skin and the glowing gem.

He heard the whisper again, and a chill ran through him. He still couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it seemed to be coming from the amulet.

Fear began to course through his blood, cold and unsettling. He grabbed onto his wrist and struggled to get his hand away. The whisper sounded again, louder, the voice low and grating like the cracking of ice.

The air around him seemed to be growing colder and colder till he was nearly shivering, his breath misting the air. The whispering continued, and he began to make it out. “ _Sam, Sam, Sam,_ ” it chanted, almost as if it were calling to him.

The strain of pulling his hand back seemed to grow, and he soon realized why. Slowly, his hand was being drawn towards the gem. The voice grew louder, the air colder, and Sam’s fear was now making sweat bead on his forehead. The light within the gem seemed to be pulsing ecstatically.

He let out a terrified yell, and then his hand touched the gem. The voice quieted, the air grew warm again, and the light of the gem died down to a gentle glow.

Sam breathed deeply, trying to understand what had just happened. To his surprise he didn’t feel any different. Maybe nothing _was_ different. Removing his hand from the gem with ease seemed to prove that.

_Weird…_

Carefully, not wanting to touch the gem again, Sam placed the amulet in the velvet pouch before stowing it away at the bottom of his desk drawer. He felt a little better with it hidden from sight, but he remembered the voice and a chill went through him again.

Sam turned on his lamp, and sat there for a bit, trying to organize his thoughts, trying to decide if he was now in danger.

He figured that he was. It was the most likely thing after what had just happened with the amulet. But what did it mean? What would happen to him? What was that voice that had called to him? What force had made him touch the gem? Sam didn’t understand any of it, but he knew he should tell Dean. Besides, having his brother with him would make him feel a little better.

He went to Dean’s room and found the door closed. Maybe he was sleeping. Sam thought of turning back, but then he brushed that thought aside. Even if he was asleep this was important enough to excuse waking him up.

“Dean?” he called, rapping his knuckles against the wood. His mouth felt dry, but he tried again, “Dean?” When there was no answer he said, “Dean, I’m coming in.”

He opened the door, revealing his brother lying on his bed with his laptop open on his lap, his earbuds in, and a bewildered expression on his face.

Sam tapped his shin to get his attention.

Dean jumped and looked up, grabbing the earbuds out of his ears.

“Jeez, don’t do that!”

“I need to talk to you,” Sam stated, knowing it’d be best to not beat around the bush.

His serious tone left no room for Dean to think he was there to have a casual conversation. His brother relaxed, closed his laptop, and then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that Sam would have room to sit down.

Dean was silent, waiting for him to speak.

After a deep breath, Sam began, “I touched the gem.”

Dean seemed a tad confused when he said, “The gem. You mean the one you specifically told me not to touch?”

“Yep,” Sam clarified.

“And?”

He shrugged. “It was an accident, really. It was like my hand got pulled towards it. And I was cold, really cold.”

“Do you think it means anything?”

Hazel eyes met green, and Sam didn’t have to speak to answer Dean’s question. As realization dawned in his brother’s eyes, Sam asked quietly, “What do we do?”

Dean looked Sam over, searching for any signs of the amulet having done something to him already. Finding none he said, “First things first, you need to get some sleep. You seem fine right now, so I don’t think we have to panic just yet. I’ll stay with you tonight to keep an eye on you, and first thing in the morning I’ll call Cas so he can come and look at you.”

“Dean, I’m not eight. I think I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Nope,” his brother argued. “I’m camping out in your room tonight.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “This is childish.”

“So? Just because we’re grown men it doesn’t mean I can’t look after my little brother.”

Sam relented, knowing that there was no arguing with Dean about this. And he had to admit, the plan did sound reasonable. He felt a little better having a plan, but the fear still sat in him like a heavy weight. Part of him wanted to argue that they should just call Cas now, but Dean was right, there was no need to panic. Yet.

After Dean grabbed some blankets he set up a spot for himself to lie down on the floor in Sam’s room. Sam couldn’t get over how much this made him feel like a child, but he turned his light off and got into bed.

Dean had his phone with him; Sam could see the light of it in the darkness that encompassed them. He was most likely playing a game on it.

“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” Sam asked him.

“Nope. Gotta watch you,” he replied simply.

Sam knew that when his brother got all protective like this there was no use trying to get him to take care of himself, so he rolled over, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep. It didn’t work. Thoughts kept going through Sam’s head, ideas about what might happen to him. He didn’t even know what dangers the amulet presented. Would it cripple him? Was he going to die?

“Dean,” Sam eventually said, knowing his brother would still be awake, “I’m sorry.”

He heard his brother take in a deep breath before saying, “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. You just wanted to study the amulet more. You didn’t know this was gonna happen.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, Sammy. It’s not your fault. We’re gonna fix whatever this is, okay? For now, just sleep.”

Sam suppressed a groan and then said, “I can’t.”

“Then let’s stay up together.”

There was shuffling as Dean got up from his makeshift bed, and then he turned on the lights. Sam blinked against the sudden brightness, but his eyes soon adjusted.

He sat up, and Dean asked, “You got a deck of cards in here?”

“Top drawer in my desk,” Sam said as he pointed.

Dean quickly found the deck, held them up, and said, “Now it’s really starting to feel like a slumber party.”

 

A few miles away, something began to stir in the deep darkness of the forest. The ground shuddered, and slowly, fingertips emerged from the earth, and then a hand, followed by an arm.

The being that was emerging appeared skeletal, but it was made of gray stone.

Another arm broke free from the soil and dirt, and then the creature clawed at the ground, attempting to drag itself up. The earth seemed to be protesting against its movements, nearly groaning as the large being sprung forth.

As it emerged the air around it began to cool, and there were crackling sounds as frost began to coat the leaves around it. Its head emerged, showing yellow eyes and features that were much too angular for it to be natural. With one final push on the ground, it freed the rest of its torso and its legs.

The stone of its body was cracked, and it wore silvery bronze armor with designs that swirled about it like snakes. As it left the earth the ground filled the space back in, as if the being had never been there.

The blue-white of frost began to coat its body, making its armor creak as it stood. It was a monstrosity; nearly nine feet tall and almost as wide as two men.

Cold followed in its wake as it began to walk, the ground trembling beneath its feet. It thought perhaps it was going in the right direction, but it couldn’t be sure. After its long hibernation it knew only one thing; it had to find Sam.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart of the amulet made by evilwriter37.


	2. The Good and the Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to find out what's wrong with Sam, he and Dean meet with Rowena.

Sam heard Dean’s voice as he began to wake up. At first he was confused. Why was Dean talking to him if he was asleep? Then he realized there were pauses in between Dean’s words; he was talking on the phone to someone. “Yeah, he’s right here… No, he’s still asleep. I can wake him up if you wanna talk to him… okay, yeah, give me a sec.” 

Sam knew he should probably at least show some sign of being awake, but he was too tired for that. He’d managed to get some sleep last night – playing cards with Dean had taken his mind off of the amulet enough to allow him to sleep – but it hadn’t been enough.

There was a tap on his leg and he opened his eyes blearily, rolling over onto his back to face Dean.

“What?” he asked, his voice holding slight irritation.

Dean held out his cellphone. “It’s Cas, he wants to talk to you.”

Letting out a groan as he sat up, Sam snatched the phone and then just put it on speaker.

“Hey Cas,” Sam greeted, trying to sound more awake.

“It’s good to hear from you, Sam. How are you feeling?”

Sam stopped and thought about that question. Other than being anxious he felt fine. Nothing hurt, nothing seemed out of whack. 

“Fine, actually,” he answered, a surprised look on his face. “But, why are you asking over the phone? Aren’t you coming here?”

Dean made an overdramatic huff and Sam eyed him, his eyebrows raised slightly. What was going on with him?

“As I’ve already told Dean,” Cas answered, “I can’t. I’m busy.”

Busy? What could Cas be busy with? Sam decided to not press him for answers. What Cas did while he was away from them he kept very secretive, so prying most likely wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam just ignored it.

“Too bad,” Sam said. “It would’ve been cool to see you. We both miss you.”

“And I you. Now, Sam, tell me about the amulet you found.”

Sam cleared his throat. He was a little uncomfortable since he hadn’t told Dean the whole story about what had happened, but he knew now that he had to share everything. So he did. First he just started out with describing the amulet, which Cas seemed to find intriguing, and then he got to the story. Dean was just looking at him, bewildered as he relayed the events of how he’d ended up touching the amulet. He spoke of the cold, and the voice chanting his name, and the force that had pulled his hand towards it, and the pulsing of energy coming from the gem.

All was silent for a bit after Sam finished. Dean and Cas were most likely thinking over what this could mean for him.

“I’ve never heard of anything like this,” Cas said. “Sam, you’re sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m not in pain or anything.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

To this Dean huffed again, and Sam gave him a look that clearly said, _knock it off._

“It’s all right, Cas,” Sam reassured. “Thanks for talking to us.”

“If anything changes I’ll call you,” Dean told him.

They said their goodbyes and then hung up. Sam handed his phone back to Dean while asking, “Why are you mad at Cas?”

Dean sat down in the chair by Sam’s desk, straddling it, his hands resting on the back of the polished wood. 

“He’s too busy to help you? Really?”

Sam shifted closer to his brother. “Dean, we don’t know what he gets up to when he’s away from us. He has his own life.”

“Yeah, but we’re his family. And what if something happens to you because he wasn’t here?”

“Hey, we’ll figure this out. That’s what you said last night.”

“That was last night. Last night when I thought Cas would actually be able to help us.”

Sam’s mind was already whirring, thinking of what to do next. Something came to him. He knew he’d be more open to it than Dean, but he’d convince him somehow.

“I’m sure there’s someone else we can talk to.”

“Yeah, like who?” his brother shot back.

“There’s always Rowena,” Sam said as casually as possible. He didn’t much like the idea himself, but he didn’t want his brother to see that. It’d make him second guess this even more.

“Rowena?” Dean scoffed. “Seriously?

“She’s the most powerful witch around. She could help us.”

“If she even wants to.”

Another thought came to Sam and his lips curled up in a devious smile. “Don’t worry. She’ll want to.”

 

Two hours later both brothers were waiting in the agreed upon spot to meet. It was a back road that hardly anyone used, so they most likely wouldn’t be interrupted. Dean just casually sat on the hood of the Impala, a pistol resting in his hand that was loaded with witch-killing bullets. Sam was sitting next to him, trying to convince him to put it away.

“Dean, we don’t need that.”

“You don’t know that,” he argued. “It’s Rowena.”

“Rowena, the witch who actually _hasn’t_ tried to hurt or kill us in a while. Besides, she’ll cooperate once we give her what we promised.”

Dean let out a sigh and then tucked the barrel of the pistol into the back of his pants, hiding it with his shirt and jacket.

“Where is she?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands and blowing on them to try and warm them up. 

“It’s not 11:30 yet, be patient.”

“I can’t be patient when I’m cold. Why is it even this cold?”

Sam agreed. He and Dean had expected it to be a mild fall day, but it wasn’t. The wind wasn’t even blowing that hard, yet he was doing his best to not shiver, and the air bit at his exposed hands and face. In fact, his nose had started tingling.

Curiously, he took his phone out of his pocket to check the weather. He berated himself for not thinking to do that earlier, but what was done was done.

“Huh,” he remarked. “It’s barely over thirty degrees. It should be at least in the fifties.”

Something about this didn’t feel right. 

_It’s just weather,_ he tried telling himself. Then why did it make him uneasy?

“And now for the weather with meteorologist Samuel Winchester,” Dean joked in an overly serious tone.

Sam rolled his eyes. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes and he turned to face Sam. “Look, it’s probably just a cold front or something.”

He was about to agree, but then he got an idea. Quickly, he looked back to his phone. He was right. Something was going on.

“Okay, Mr. It’s Just a Cold Front, then why is it nearly sixty degrees in the next town over?”

That gave Dean pause and he blinked slowly. “What?”

“Yep.”

After a bit he agreed, “That is weird.”

Just then they heard footsteps, high heels clicking on the worn down concrete road. Both brothers turned, completely in sync, to see Rowena approaching them, her flaming red hair hanging about her shoulders.

Sam and Dean hopped off the hood and faced her. 

Dean remained silent once she was standing in front of them, and Sam tried at least being polite, but Rowena cut him off with her high voice and lilting accent, “You could have at least picked a better spot to meet. I had to walk a mile in these shoes.”

“It’s better to be discreet about this,” Sam told her.

She let out an overdramatic huff and then said, “Fine, now where’s this ring you promised me?”

Sam took the ring she’d spoken of out of his pocket. Luckily he’d recognized it the other day thanks to some notes the Men of Letters had left about it. The ring was made out of three slim, silver bands that intertwined with each other like a braid, and according to the Men of Letters, whoever wore it would be immune to any kind of spell. It seemed like something Rowena would like, and she wouldn’t be able to use it to cause any harm. 

He held it out to her. “Here you go.”

With an excited smile on her face Rowena took the ring from him, slipping it onto her finger before admiring it and most likely taking note of the potency of the magic it contained. 

Dean cleared his throat, and Rowena retorted, “What, can’t a woman admire a beautiful gift given to her by a handsome man?”

Sam just glared at her. He was having none of this. 

Rowena sighed and relented, “All right. Just show me the amulet, Samuel.”

He inwardly grimaced at being called Samuel, but he did as she requested, taking the pouch containing the amulet from his inner jacket pocket. Carefully, he removed it from the pouch, not wanting to touch the gem again. 

The red-headed witch gasped in awe as she saw it, and the gem glowed weakly in the late morning sunlight. 

“That’s incredible,” Rowena commented, stepping closer to it. She had her hands out as if she wanted to touch it, and Sam pulled it back, giving her a warning look.

She held up her right hand, the one she’d slipped the ring onto, and Sam understood. He passed it to her, and she touched the gem without an issue. She ran her fingers over it, her red-painted nails contrasting with the blue.

“The spellwork in this is quite advanced,” she told them, not lifting her eyes from it. She studied the engravings on the side and then frowned.

“What? What is it?” Dean asked.

“I’ve never seen this kind of writing before. At least, not in any of the craft I’ve done.”

Sam questioned, “Is it possible you know someone who would recognize it?”

“I did.”

“What happened to them?” Dean wondered aloud.

Rowena looked at them with a cheerful smile. “I burned the bitch to a crisp because she thought she could get away with stealing one of my own original spells.”

It took a lot of resolve in order for Sam to hold back a shudder. In truth, he sometimes forgot who Rowena was and the immense power she contained. More often than not she seemed rather cheerful, either that or petty. He knew it was just an act, it had to be, but she did a phenomenal job at keeping it up. 

Dean rolled his eyes, acting like he’d expected a negative answer like that. Then again, Dean had a point in thinking that way. Things almost never went right for them. “Great. Now what?”

Without even glancing towards the older Winchester, Rowena thrust the amulet out towards him, and he shied away. 

“Here, hold this,” she ordered.

There was a hard set to her facial features; whatever she was about to do she took seriously. 

Dean didn’t reach for the amulet and she slowly turned her head to him, a look of displeasure on her face.

“Take. The amulet,” she ordered. “Now.”

With a quick nod, Dean took it from her, making sure to only touch the iron chain. Then, Rowena stepped towards Sam. She was much to close to him, and he stepped back. She just grabbed his waist to keep him still.

“Uh… what?”

“I’m not going to get an accurate reading off of you if you’re moving around like a moose during mating season.”

Sam looked down at her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Rowena met his gaze and he pulled his head back, not sure if she was coming on to him or not. If so, why the hell would she do that? Besides, Sam would never go for her. One, she was a witch, and two, he was done with relationships for good. He’d been hurt too much.

The strange moment passed when a voice sounded behind him, the accent distinctly British, “Mother, what are you doing? You know the moose is on my bucket list.”

_Great, as if I wasn’t uncomfortable enough as it is._

Instantly, Sam whirled around to face Crowley, his cheeks flushing with anger. There was a clatter as Dean dropped the amulet, and then a quiet _shing_ as he slid the demon-killing knife from the hilt he had strapped to his hip – he made it his job to be prepared for anything. Rowena moved to stand behind Sam, crossing her arms.

“Boys, _mother_ ,” Crowley greeted. “Guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked, stepping forward so that he was on Sam’s left. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley questioned. “I’m just here to watch the drama unfold. And to make sure that Moose over here doesn’t get hurt, or used.”

“I’m not going to _use_ him,” Rowena exclaimed. “I’m only trying to help.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, sauntering his way closer. “Yeah? And what did he give you in return?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“And Dean,” he began, “why didn’t you call me? I like to think we’re pretty close.”

“That was then. This is now.”

He leaned back against the Impala, a frown on his face. “After all I do for you two this is the thanks I get,” he muttered.

Rowena grabbed Sam’s wrists as she told them. “Just ignore him, he likes to sulk.”

Dean shot a worried glance at Crowley, probably to make sure he wasn’t about to blow up over that. Then he re-sheathed the knife, to which the King of Hell nodded his thanks. 

“Face forward, Sam,” Rowena fussed, reaching up to touch his face and move his head back in her direction. Sam’s skin crawled, but he fought against the terror that wanted to break free. “There, that’s better. Now, Dean, go join my son off to the side there. Wouldn’t want you to get in the way.”

A couple of seconds passed before Dean did as she ordered, picking up the amulet from the ground on his way. 

As Rowena began to circle around him, her hands raised, and chanting in a language he didn’t understand, Sam felt something wash over him. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant either. That was, until she proclaimed one word very loudly. A shocked gasp left him as energy seemed to enter his body, delving into him. It didn’t hurt, it just felt… violating. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t do so much as move or speak.

“Sammy!” Dean called. He was about to rush over, but Crowley grabbed his arm. 

He could hear Crowley telling Dean something, but he was too focused on fighting back memories and emotions to make the words out. 

Rowena’s voice managed to reach him. She was no longer chanting, just standing in front of him. “Don’t you worry, Sam. This’ll be over soon.”

Soon wasn’t good enough. He wanted it over _now_.

“Rowena, please,” he got out, his voice quiet and strained.

A shudder passed through him, and then, the energy left him, and he fell onto his hands and knees, his shoulders and chest heaving as he gasped in air. 

Dean was by his side in a second, already trying to help him up. He tensed his muscles, fighting him. He needed a moment to get himself under control. Sam lowered his head, not wanting the others to see the anguish on his face.

“What did you do to him?!” Dean shouted, letting go of Sam and pulling out his pistol loaded with witch-killing bullets.

She laughed. “I haven’t done anything to him. Just a standard magical overview of him to check for any spells or curses attached to him. Whatever he’s suffering from now, that wasn’t me.”

“Then who did this to him?” Dean demanded. “Who?”

Sam ducked his head, his cheeks turning pink with shame. Then, he clenched his jaw, forcing the rest of the memories back, and stood. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and could feel the tension in his body.

“Dean, just let it go. She didn’t do anything to hurt me. I’m fine.”

A minute of tense silence passed with Dean and Rowena glaring at each other, almost challenging the other to attack them. Then, Dean lowered the gun. Sam hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he took in a gasp of air.

“Well that was maybe a tad overdramatic,” Crowley commented.

Sam shot him a glare and Crowley raised his eyebrows as if to ask, _What did I do?_

“The good news,” Rowena said, “is that Sam is fine. The amulet hasn’t harmed him.”

“And the bad news?” Dean asked.

“It will. Eventually. But not in the way you think.”

Crowley sighed and went over to her. “For god’s sake, mother, do you always have to be so cryptic?”

“It’s not my fault the magic itself is cryptic,” she exclaimed to her son before turning to Sam again. “The truth is, I don’t know what it’s going to do to you, Sam.”

“And what about the amulet?” Dean asked, holding it out. “Did you get anything from that?”

“It’s magic I’ve never seen before, so no, I didn’t.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Great, now what were they going to do? He wasn’t as afraid as he had been before. He still had time before the magic in the amulet harmed him. 

There was silence once more, which broke when Rowena said, “So I guess that’s all then.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed solemnly, “I guess that’s all.”


	3. Of Ice and Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The creature that arose from the earth turns two people into stone, and Dean starts investigating. Sam starts a case of his own.

Daylight filtered through the colored leaves that still remained clinging to their branches, mottling the ground in light and shadow. The stone being in metal armor that had arisen from the ground the night before still had not found Sam. Though it tried, and it knew it was close, it could not sense him, could not sense the amulet he had found. Yet, it still walked. It worried that maybe it was heading away from him, but there was no use in remaining in the same place. 

The ground around it shook with each step, and frightened hares and squirrels darted out of its path. A sound reached the creature. A sound it hadn’t truly heard with its own ears in centuries… human speech. 

It stopped, pathetically attempting to hide its mass behind a tree, and it listened. It understood most of the words, understood the meaning.

“I think we should head back, Hunter. I thought I heard something.” The voice was gruff with a bit of an accent the stone creature did not recognize.

Another voice responded to the first one, this one higher, but still masculine. “Bennett, I didn’t hear anything.”

“That’s because you’re too darned oblivious. I’m telling ya, there’s something out there.”

Low clicks reached the being, and it didn’t recognize them. 

“Well, if there is, we’ll shoot it. We got our guns.”

Hm… it didn’t recognize this word. What was a gun?

The conversation stopped, both men probably on high alert now. And the creature got an idea, one that would surely get Sam’s attention. Through the amulet it had learned about him, who he was and what he did, and now, it could use that to its advantage. 

The creature moved from its hiding place, and began walking towards where it’d heard the voices. They were farther into the woods, where the ground began sloping downwards and the trees became thicker. At the bottom of the slope, it spotted them, two men with beards carrying strange-looking metallic objects. One of them was looking at it, and he was anxiously tapping the other to get his attention.

“What is it, Bennett?” Hunter drawled, turning towards his friend.

“L-l-look,” he stuttered out, pointing a shaking finger at the creature that was now approaching them. 

Hunter let out a surprised shout, raised his strange metallic object and seemed to pull a trigger of some sort. There was a blast and then a small projectile hit the being. It looked down, watching as it bounced off of it. 

Then, a barrage of the tiny projectiles hit it, loud bangs sounding throughout the woods. It kept walking. It didn’t like the loud noises, and these humans seemed to be trying to hurt it. 

There were two clicks, one from each weapon the men held, and then their eyes widened in horror. They fell to the ground as the creature stood before them.

“W-w-what do you want?” Hunter asked, his voice now high-pitched and frightened.

The stone being reached its hands out towards them as it said, “I must find Sam.”

Its massive hands touched their heads as they opened their mouths to scream, and their movements stopped. Gray crept out onto their skin as their bodies changed. The magic washed over them until, rather than two men, there were two stone statues on the ground, their faces frozen in fear.

 

After the meeting with Rowena, Sam and Dean went to get some lunch at a nearby diner. Dean, as usual, was enjoying his food with gusto, but Sam hadn’t touched his plate, hadn’t even eaten a single fry. 

“You should eat,” Dean told him before taking another bite of his burger.

Sam looked up from studying the black and off-white checkered floor tiles, then at Dean. His older brother seemed calm and content, but his eyes betrayed him. He was worried about him. Sam then sighed and looked down at his plate. After that morning, he wasn’t feeling very hungry. He still felt ashamed that Rowena simply trying to help him had frightened him, had brought up horrible memories he tried to forget, all the times he’d been touched without his consent. A simple spell had done that to him. It made him feel weak, powerless. 

“I’m not hungry,” he told him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “Whether you like it or not, you need food. Simple as that.”

Sam let out another sigh and then finally picked up his burger and took a bite. The movements of chewing and swallowing felt difficult, felt like work. He had to think about it, force himself, in order to keep going.

Dean said a quiet “thank you,” and then continued eating.

Dean had finished his food before Sam had even finished his burger, and his plate had already been cleared away. Now he had his laptop out.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked him.

“Looking for a case. Now keep eating.”

“That’s usually my thing when we’re out to eat somewhere.”

“I don’t want you working right now.”

Sam painstakingly finished chewing the last bite of his burger and swallowed before asking, “Why not?”

Dean gave him a pointed look, and then the tiny clicks of his fingers against the keyboard started up again.

He lowered his head when recognition hit him. “Ah, the amulet. That’s what this is about.”

“It sure is. I don’t want you hunting when that amulet could start hurting you at any moment. It could put us in a tricky spot.” He looked up and then realized that Sam still had his fries on his plate. “Look, Sammy, as much as I wanna eat those fries, you’re the one who needs to eat them. We’re not leaving till your plate is clear.”

Sam’s cheeks turned pink, and he lowered his head. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m a little kid,” he muttered.

“Okay, then eat your food.”

He knew Dean meant well, but this was starting to piss him off. A quiet, angry growl left him and then he continued eating, trying to not think about how embarrassing it was that Dean had to tell him to do so.

A few minutes passed without either of them talking. The chatter within the diner began to build up as more people entered, some of them grabbing something quick for their lunch breaks, others taking the time to sit down and enjoy their food. Sam idly watched the bustle of people coming in and out, waiters and waitresses in red shirts and black aprons taking orders and relaying them to the cooks. 

His mind began to wander, going back to the amulet. It was frightening not knowing when it was going to hurt him, or even how it was going to do so. Would it hurt him physically? Mentally? He wasn’t sure. And he felt like he needed something to do with his apprehension. This felt like he was just waiting for someone to pull the trigger on him rather than taking action. 

“I need to get some air,” Sam eventually said. 

He got up from their table and left the busy diner, ignoring whatever Dean had said to him on his way out. It was warmer than it had been earlier. Much warmer. As Sam went around to the side of the building for privacy he took his phone out and dialed Castiel.

He leaned back against the white outer walls of the restaurant as the phone rang. It wasn’t long before his friend picked up.

“Sam,” Cas said as a greeting, his voice warm. “Is everything all right?”

Sam scratched at the back of his head, and answered, “Yeah, I guess so. Dean and I, we met with Rowena earlier to see if she could help me.”

He felt a little guilty telling Cas that. He knew that he’d wanted to be the one to help him, and he wouldn’t like that he’d put himself in potential danger because he wasn’t available.

Before Cas could say anything about it, Sam assured, “I’m all right though. She didn’t try to hurt me, but she couldn’t help much either.”

A breathy sound, along with some static followed, and he knew Cas had just let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.”

“No, no. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. You’re my best friend, Sam. I should be able to be there for you.” 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. He understood the weight of guilt better than most people, and he didn’t like that even more was now weighing down Cas.

“Look, I get it, Cas,” Sam began. “I do. Dean and I, we’re not your life. We’re just part of it. What you do in your own time is your own business and I respect that.”

“Thank you, Sam,” the angel said. “Just know that I wish I could be there.”

“I know, Cas. I know.”

“So how are you holding up?”

Sam figured he knew what Cas was asking him, but he wasn’t sure he felt like talking about it. Then again, maybe that was the reason he had called Cas in the first place.

“Like I said, I’m all right.”

“I’m not asking about how you are physically,” Castiel explained. “I’m asking how you’re doing emotionally. I know that sometimes Dean isn’t always very understanding of what you’ve been through. I’ll admit, I don’t know everything you’ve been through, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can always talk to me, Sam.”

To his surprise, Sam found himself blinking back tears. After clearing his throat, trying to get rid of the ache in it that Cas’ words had induced, he said, “T-thanks, Cas. That means a lot.” He sighed and bent his knee, putting one foot up on the wall. “I guess I’m not doing that well. Today with Rowena, it brought up some stuff I don’t want to think about. Stuff I wish I could forget. And I don’t like some of the things that happened to me. Granted, no one would, but… I’m ashamed, Cas.”

“Whatever is making you ashamed, I’m sure it’s not your fault.”

Sam let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I try telling myself that. Doesn’t seem to work very well.”

“Sam, you have more strength than I could’ve ever imagined a human could possess. Whatever memories are bothering you, whatever they’re making you feel, you’ll get through it. You always do.”

With his free hand he wiped his face, the tips of his fingers coming away wet. He smiled, a genuine smile.

“Thanks, Cas. I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey, I should let you go; Dean’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

“Bye Castiel.”

After hanging up he stood there for a minute more, taking some deep breaths to collect himself. He felt better after talking to Cas. There was no getting rid of the things he’d been through, but now, he felt like he could handle it better. He was still apprehensive about the amulet, but there wasn’t much that could be done for that.

Sam went back into the diner, and instantly began to eat his fries, which had gone a little cold. Surprisingly though, it felt easier to eat now.

Dean looked to him, his eyebrows slightly lifted. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t feeling that good.”

“Is it the amulet?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… me. I’ll be fine.” 

They locked eyes for a bit, and he knew that Dean was trying to assess if he was lying to him or not. When he realized he was telling the truth he then lowered his eyes back to his laptop.

“So I think I found something,” Dean said. “About half an hour ago a hiker stumbled upon two stone statues.”

“And?”

Dean turned the laptop around to show him the screen. There was a picture on it, two lifelike statues lying on the ground, their faces twisted in horror, their mouths open in soundless screams.

Sam frowned at the picture in concentration. The statues were too life-like. He could see the folds and wrinkles in their clothing, stone wisps of hair brushed across their foreheads, a small hole in one of their ears like an earing used to be there, a slight dent in one of the hunting rifles they each held.

“They were people,” Dean said. “They’ve already been identified. “Bennett Manning, and Hunter Rodriguez. Their wives said that three hours ago they went out hunting. They weren’t expecting them back till tonight.”

“Guess they won’t ever be getting back,” Sam said. 

Dean turned his laptop back around. “Nope.”

“So what do you think?”

“A gorgon or a basilisk, maybe. Either way, I’m gonna take you back to the bunker and then go check out the scene.”

Sam nodded. He wished he could go with Dean. But, he had to admit, Dean had a point. It would be dangerous for him to go out on a hunt while the threat of the amulet hung over him. 

The car ride afterwards was uncomfortably silent, so after getting back to the bunker he went to his room. Dean didn’t need him. God, he hated feeling so useless! He eventually decided that he’d read to keep himself busy; there was nothing better to do. About ten minutes later Dean knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened with a slight creak, and he saw his brother standing in the entrance. He was dressed in a suit, ready to impersonate an FBI agent. 

“Won’t it be suspicious that the FBI are at the scene already?” Sam asked, pointing out the obvious.

“Usually, yeah, but I figure everyone’s so freaked out they won’t realize anything’s wrong with that.”

“Be careful,” Sam told him.

Dean rolled his eyes affectionately and then told Sam, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“Don’t do anything stupid while you’re out,” he retorted.

With that, Dean left, closing Sam’s bedroom door behind him. He looked back to his book, and he found himself simply reading the words, but not grasping the story. He couldn’t focus. So he placed the bookmark back in, closed the book, and laid it on his bedside table. Sam ended up staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

As he lay there, he felt boredom, and worse, anxiety begin to creep up on him. Eventually, he couldn’t sit still anymore, and he decided to look up a case of his own. 

Sam couldn’t help it. He was a hunter. This was what he did.

So now he sat in the library, his laptop out, and a cup of coffee in one hand. The day didn’t seem to be too busy. Things were mostly quiet for now as far as supernatural happenings went. He did find one case he was thinking of checking out, but after calling Jody to see if she wanted in on it, he found out that she was already handling it. 

The thought of giving up crossed his mind, but he brushed it aside. Having the stubborn streak of a Winchester, Sam kept looking. And then, one of his searches got a hit. 

Over an hour ago an ambulance had arrived at a park just outside of Smith County in Kansas. They’d gotten a call from a man named Ivan Rhodes who had found an unconscious woman. When the ambulance got there, they’d confirmed the woman, Rachel Barnes, dead. It didn’t say the cause of death, but around her body had been a circle of grass that’d been frosted over.

Quickly, he went to his room to change into dress pants, a button-down shirt, and a red sweater, and to grab everything he needed. He was excited to be doing something. 

As Sam was about to open the bunker door and leave, he stopped with his hand reaching for the handle. He drew it back, making a fist.

_Should I go out on my own? What if Dean’s right? What if something happens to me?_

Then he contemplated calling Dean and telling him about what he’d found. 

_No. Dean’s already busy with another case._

Sam took a deep breath.

_I can do this._

He opened the door and left, ready to get to work.

 

Dean picked up a bullet that lay amongst the detritus on the ground. Not far from him were the two stone bodies. No one wanted to move them since they really weren’t sure what had happened. Cops had already gotten to the scene, and they’d been relieved when he’d gotten there, glad to have help from the bureau. Thankfully, they were too stumped by this whole thing to realize that Dean had gotten there much more quickly than was normal or even possible. They didn’t ask questions, just accepted his authority and told him what was what.

He put the bullet down and got up from his crouch. There were a lot of bullets here. The forensic investigators couldn’t remove the stone rifles from the hands of the men-turned-statues, so it took studying the weapons and the amount of bullets on the ground to realize they’d both fired off an entire round each. The astounding part was that, while there were strange tracks, there were no other signs of what they had been firing at. 

Dean went over to another spot, crouched down once more, and began to study the tracks. They were large and resembled a bare human footprint. However, human footprints were more filled, showing the fact that there was skin and muscle and flesh. But these ones, these were skeletal. It was unnerving. 

_Definitely not a gorgon or a basilisk then._

There weren’t many leads to go on, especially since the tracks randomly stopped at a certain point, and he’d learned what he could, so after saying a few goodbyes he left the scene.

 

Meanwhile, Sam had used one of the cars in the bunker garage to drive to the hospital where Rachel Barnes’ body was being inspected. He got in to look at it after claiming to be a med student who’d been given the task of learning to determine causes of death. There was a doctor with him, and Sam pretended to take notes as he talked about a few of the dead bodies in their morgue. The doctor was an older man, his hair nearly completely gray, and he was short, his face clean-shaven. He was friendly, he didn’t babble too much, and there still seemed to be a spark of youth in him. It contradicted the harsh coldness to the place with its white walls and floors, bright lights, and metal tables and cases where the bodies were stored. After he’d shown Sam two bodies and had explained how he’d figured out the causes of death, pointing out certain details, Sam pointed his pencil towards the last metal table in the room that held a body on it. He’d seen the toe tag earlier and it was Rachel.

“And what about her?” Sam asked.

The doctor turned to see where he was pointing, and when his eyes landed on the body, he frowned. 

He went over and lowered the sheet so it was no longer covering her face. “Rachel Barnes,” he said. “Came in not too long ago.”

“How’d she die?” Sam asked.

“Well, from the looks of it I’d say hypothermia.”

“Hypothermia?” he asked in shock. 

_Definitely something supernatural going on._

The doctor turned to him. “I’ve seen some weird things in my time working here, but I’ve never seen this. Just by the looks of her you’d think she’d been going around Antarctica in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt, not strolling around a park in the beginning of October.”

“Wow,” Sam said, not even having to pretend to be stunned. He hadn’t seen anything like this either. 

He studied the woman. Her skin was unnaturally pale, her lips blue, and there were dark circles, almost like bruises, under her eyes. So somehow, she’d practically frozen to death in the middle of a park. 

Sam actually did write down a few notes, and then he thanked the doctor for his time before leaving. He knew, realistically, he’d have to wait before questioning Ivan Rhodes, the man who’d found her, if he intended to pose as an FBI agent, so the next thing he could think of was impersonating a journalist. That’d be easy, and it wouldn’t be uncommon for a nosy journalist to already get wind of a good story like this.

However, he wanted to check the park where Rachel had died first. It seemed like he might be dealing with a witch, so he went to search for any hex bags. 

And nothing. He’d found nothing. The place was spotless. So Ivan was his next lead. For some reason when he looked up Ivan he couldn’t find anything about him. No photos, no social security number, not even someone talking about him on social media. This was getting weirder by the second.

After asking around a bit he was able to find him in a little café, sipping a cup of tea while looking out the window. The café was small and was decorated in earthy, comforting tones of brown. Ivan was a small man, short and skinny. He had pale skin, blue eyes, and tousled brown hair. When Sam saw him he had a hard time guessing what age he was. At first glance, maybe in his early twenties, but his eyes made him look older, like they held more years than his face showed.

Without any preamble, Sam sat down in the booth, across from Ivan. Something lit up on Ivan’s face when he saw Sam, but before Sam could figure out what it was, the look had passed. 

Ivan was cooperative, answered every single one of Sam’s questions, and even offered to buy him something to drink. Sam politely declined, and then gave Ivan his number in case he remembered anything else about finding Rachel’s body. 

Sam hadn’t gained much more information, but he was glad to be on his way. Something was off with Ivan. The way he spoke was careful, and there were some words he didn’t seem to know. He thought about it as he drove off. Maybe Ivan was just weird. He came across strange people from time to time. 

The ringing of his phone brought him back to reality, and after seeing that it was Dean, he reluctantly answered.

“Why aren’t you at the bunker?” Dean asked, his voice containing barely held back frustration and worry.

“I’m working on a case,” he answered simply.

“A case?”

“Yep. I found one after you left. I was just questioning someone. I’m heading back to the bunker right now.”

“Damn it, Sam! You shouldn’t have even left in the first place.”

Dean’s raised voice prompted Sam to raise his voice unintentionally. “I’m fine, Dean! The amulet hasn’t done anything to me yet, so until it does, why can’t I just keep doing what I do?”

“Because you’re putting yourself in danger!”

“So? We put ourselves in danger every day,” Sam reasoned.

Dean groaned in frustration before saying, “Oh god, Sam, you know that’s not what I mean. This is different. We both know something’s gonna happen to you, and we don’t know what or when. It’s not safe for you to be out hunting.”

“Well, I’m fine. Now quit mothering me.”

A frustrated growl sounded from the phone, and then his older brother hung up. Sam let out a puff of air as he threw his phone down on the passenger’s seat. He knew Dean had a point, but he also thought that sitting around doing nothing was just a waste of time. Maybe the amulet would kill him, he didn’t know, but he knew that if it did, he wanted to save as many people as he could before the lights went out.

 

Ivan watched Sam leave in his odd… what had he called it? A car. Yes, that was it. Ivan watched as the silver car disappeared from view, and then he smiled. So his plan to draw him out had worked. He’d been disappointed when killing the hunters in the woods hadn’t gotten the job done, but then he’d killed that woman in the park. His smile widened and he took a sip of his tea. Recognizing Sam from sight had been easy. The night before, he’d seen him when he’d touched the amulet. And now, he’d seen him in person, with his own two eyes. Ivan couldn’t be happier. He’d found him. He’d found Sam.


	4. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Crowley work out an arrangement for working together. Sam and Dean have an argument.

_The night before…_

Castiel hadn’t been doing much of anything when a strange surge of energy had drawn his senses, so he’d decided to check it out. With his wings still healing from The Fall he’d had to drive in order to even get close to where he’d felt the disturbance. Driving was something he’d gotten used to, but that didn’t mean he liked it. However, he didn’t let his sour mood get in the way of his curiosity. Besides, he hadn’t felt an energy surge such as this in centuries. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was determined to find out.

It was well past midnight when he got close to where he’d felt the spark of power, and the dark night was made even darker by the clouds that blotted out the stars and the moon. All was silent once Cas turned off the engine of his car, too silent. It was as if the creatures of the night had been frightened away by something. That didn’t bode well with him.

The angel got out of the car, not liking how exposed he felt parked there at the side of the road. He noted that he was somewhere near the bunker, so one of his first instincts was to call the Winchesters. But what would he tell them? He didn’t even know what was going on yet.

After dismissing the thought Castiel began his trek into the dark and silent woods, determined to find out what was going on. 

The surge of energy had lasted about a minute, but then, it had been snuffed out. Perhaps whatever had created the energy had been killed. Castiel wasn’t so sure of that. As he walked through the woods, nearly wincing every time his feet upset a clump of brittle leaves or snapped a twig or two, there was a heavy, apprehensive feeling in his gut. He remembered where he’d felt the immense power come from and he headed in that direction. 

As he went deeper and deeper into the woods he became on edge. The absence of sound from any owls or bugs that should be awake at this time struck a chord in Castiel. Something was terribly wrong. The energy in itself had felt wrong. Not angelic, or even demonic. Just… cold and malevolent. 

The air grew chillier as he walked. It wasn’t something that bothered him – temperature wasn’t something that affected him – but he took note of it. He knew how weather patterns worked, and this wasn’t right.

After nearly an hour he reached the area the energy had come from. He was in a small clearing, and with his enhanced senses he was able to see that directly in the middle the soil was darker, as if it’d been churned up by something. He crouched down, running his hand over it. The darker patch of ground was wet, as well as all around it. Curiously, Cas also felt over some of the leaves. They were also wet. It wasn’t wet enough to suggest it had rained. It was more like there’d been frost that had melted. 

He stood and wiped his hand on his trench coat, looking around as he did so, seeing if there was anything else that could maybe let him know what had happened. 

A voice sounded from a couple feet away, thoroughly shocking him, “So you felt it too, huh, Feathers?” And out from behind a tree stepped Crowley, the King of Hell.

“I assume you’re talking about the energy surge.”

“Yep.” Crowley sauntered over to stand beside Cas. His eyes ran over the darker patch of ground. “So what do you think?” he asked. 

Cas looked around some more, and he noticed tracks leading away from the churned up earth. He went over to examine them. They were like nothing he’d ever seen before, human, but skeletal and massive at the same time. 

Things were starting to come together, at least a little bit.

“I think something clawed its way up out of the Earth,” Castiel said. “I don’t know what, but I have the feeling it’s not friendly.”

“Well, it’s got nothing to do with me,” Crowley stated.

Cas turned back to look at him. “I know.”

“Good. Since we’ve got that settled what do you say you and I put our heads together and see if we can figure out what we’re dealing with?”

Castiel wasn’t sure that’d be a good idea. He knew that Sam and Dean had an alliance with Crowley that at times was very tenuous, but he wasn’t sure if he should be working with him again. 

“Come on, Castiel,” Crowley urged. “It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe we should tell Sam and Dean.”

“Nah, I’m sure they have enough to deal with already. Besides, we don’t even know what this is yet. Who knows, could be totally boring.”

Cas straightened, and then pursed his lips as he thought. Crowley did have a point. There was no use in dragging the Winchesters into this, especially if it turned out to be nothing. 

“You’re right.” After a pause, “So what should we do first?”

Crowley stared at the tracks, pondering them for a bit. “If I was feeling a bit more adventurous I’d say we see where those lead, but there could be trouble at the end of that. I want to be prepared first. I could round up some of my older demons, see if they’ve come across this before.”

Cas nodded. “Good idea.”

“Oh, and Castiel, best you stick with me.”

“What? Why?” he asked, his voice raised.

“I don’t want any of your angel friends sniffing about.” Castiel was about to point out that he didn’t have any friends besides Sam and Dean, but Crowley had already continued, “While we’re um, working together, perhaps it’d be best if I kept an eye on you.”

Cas glared at him. “You’re making me already start to second guess this arrangement.”

Crowley held out his arm, but Cas didn’t take it. He knew he’d be taken back to the dump that the King of Hell considered his castle, but he was already very unsure about this. 

Crowley just stared at Cas questioningly. “Well, come on. I don’t bite. Not angels anyway. That usually ends with me trying to avoid getting gutted by an angel blade.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at Crowley’s comment and then took his arm. In a second they were transported to Crowley’s dimly lit throne room. 

The King of Hell sighed and looked at him as he stepped back. “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this little arrangement of ours, Castiel. You’ll have fun. Trust me.”

Castiel doubted that, but he did feel better having someone to work this out with. From past dealings with Crowley he knew to be cautious. He’d make sure that this wouldn’t turn into a problem later down the road.

 

_In the present…_

“Oh, look who’s back,” Dean said when Sam entered the bunker. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother, who was sitting at the table in the war room, as he made his way down the stairs.

Sam ignored his comment and asked, “So how’s your case going?”

After he took a seat across from Dean he said, anger simmering beneath the surface, “No, no. Tell me about your case.”

Sam knew his brother was being passive aggressive, and he felt it best to just confront the issue rather than tiptoe around it, or pretend like nothing was wrong.

“Look,” he started, “I know you’re mad.”

“What gives you that idea?” Dean snapped.

Sam shot a glare at him and his brother was glaring right back, his gaze unwavering. “I know you told me not to go out and I did anyway. But Dean, look at me, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you are, but what if you weren’t? What if something happened to you and I wasn’t there?”

“I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself.”

“Oh I know you can. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to just go somewhere without telling me. Not when that amulet could do something to you any second.”

“Well, it _hasn’t_ done anything to me, so can we drop it?”

Dean looked at him for a few long seconds, no doubt thinking over what Sam had said. Eventually he told him, “Fine, but if you do something stupid like that again I’m gonna find a way to lock you in here.”

“I’m gonna have to do something stupid like that again,” Sam reasoned. “I started working on a case. I can’t just drop it.”

“Sure you can.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe if I want more people to die.”

There was silence as Dean thought over his words. It was clear that his brother was arguing with himself, trying to decide what was more important; Sam’s protection or saving lives. At times Dean had never had an easy time deciding between the two, and if Sam was being honest, he himself had a hard time with that when it came to Dean.

Neither side seemed to win for now and Dean released a frustrated groan, rubbing both his hands over his face. “God, for once why can’t you just stop being such a good person?”

Had he heard that correctly?

“Excuse me?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Dean spoke, “You heard me. You can’t even sit on the sidelines just once even if your life is at stake.”

“No one said my life is at stake,” Sam argued.

“Knowing our luck it probably is. And yet you had to go out and start a case and put yourself in harm’s way. Why can’t you think about yourself for once?”

“Oh, you want me to think about myself? After all the terrible things I’ve done you actually want me to think about myself? You think I deserve that?”

“You’re not a bad person, Sammy.”

Sam wasn’t sure where all this was coming from. Maybe things had just boiled over the top over the years, but now he couldn’t just keep it in. He stood up, turning away from Dean. 

Sometimes he couldn’t tell if he was bad or good. He knew that, right now, Dean saw him as good, but that didn’t change all the times he’d seen fear or even disgust in his brother’s eyes. That didn’t change all the mistakes he’d made, all the wrongs he’d committed, all the people he’d hurt, all those who were dead because of him. 

“That’s real funny, Dean,” he commented. “A good person. Sure. I’m sure all good people end up starting the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, but you ended it,” Dean reasoned.

He whirled on him. “Not before _a lot_ of people died. Not before a lot of people suffered. All the death, all the destruction that happened during that year,” he paused, pointing a finger at himself, “that’s all on me.”

“Sam,” Dean began, his tone resolute, “we _both_ had a hand in that. It wasn’t just you.”

“But you didn’t go around drinking demon blood!” Sam reasoned.

A sob wanted to escape from his throat when Dean turned away from him. Figures, his own brother couldn’t even look at him.

“That’s what I thought.”

Dean’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “That was years ago.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I still hear you in my nightmares. And do you know what I hear? I hear you telling me, ‘If I didn’t know you I’d wanna hunt you.’ I _still_ remember that, Dean!”

“I was wrong to say that.”

Sam shook his head. “No. You weren’t. You were _absolutely right_. I’ve screwed up so many times in my life. I feel like I can never get things right. So yeah, I went and looked for a case. And I don’t care what you say, I’m gonna find out what’s killing people. Because after all the _wrong_ I’ve done, I want to at least do some good before it’s too late. Or have you forgotten that that’s our job?”

Now Dean was standing, his chair falling over and loudly clattering onto the floor from how quickly he’d pushed it back.

“That’s not my only job,” Dean told him. “My job is _protecting you_.”

Sam held out his arms. “Well you’ve done great with that,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve been tortured more times than I can count!”

“Don’t you dare put that on me!”

“Well if you claim that protecting me is your job then I am gonna put that on you. You know what? If that’s how you wanna see things then I can even blame the demon blood on you. You couldn’t even protect me from myself!”

By now both brothers had tears slowly trailing down their faces. 

“So I’m the bad guy now too, huh? And you know what, Sam? I call myself out on that stuff all the time. I beat myself up about it because what kind of big brother am I? Both of us have been through the wringer so many times I’m not even sure I recognize what came out. Am I a monster? Am I a hero? I don’t know!”

Sam laughed bitterly and sniffled. “Guess we have that in common.”

After all their yelling the silence seemed deafening. 

Eventually one of them moved. It was Dean. He grabbed his jacket from one of the chairs he’d left it on, and announced as he made his way up the stairs, “I’m gonna go get a drink. And you know what? I don’t care if you stay here or go out. Do whatever the hell you want. You get in trouble, don’t call me.”

Dean slammed the door shut behind him and Sam flinched. He felt a scream building up in him, his chest aching, but he held his breath, not wanting to let it out. Seconds passed slowly, and then finally, the burning anguish seemed to die down, and Sam let out a breath and sunk back down into his seat, his head in his hands. And he cried.

 

It took two beers for Dean to calm down. Sometimes when he drank, rather than falling into a drunken stupor he actually saw things with more clarity. Maybe that was because the alcohol relaxed him. He wasn’t too sure. He just knew that before the two beers he was absolutely furious with Sam for all the things he’d said. Dean already felt like a failure; he didn’t need his own brother placing even more blame on his shoulders. But now he understood why Sam had said the things he had. His brother was hurting, and maybe he’d been in the wrong to get angry with him for going out. He just worried so much. And given the lives they lead, who could blame him? So yeah, he’d been angry with Sam, and maybe when he was sober again he’d find the energy to let that anger build back up, but right now, more than anything, he was sad. Not so much for himself, but for Sam. He was sad that his brother didn’t think of himself as a good person. He was sad that he’d been hurt so much. He was sad that things he’d said in the past had stuck with Sam. He was sad that Sam was clearly suffering from all he’d been through, even though some of it had happened years ago. It was just awful that his brother was in so much pain. And what made it even worse was that Dean didn’t know what to do about it. He wouldn’t admit it later, but as he drank, he shed a few more tears.

 

It took a while for Sam to calm down. He knew that a lot of what he’d said had been out of line. And he was ashamed. He almost never blew up like that. This was why he liked to take time to think before he confronted anyone about something. Sam knew that when he got angry he could say some of the most hurtful things. 

A while after Dean left he had just sat there feeling sorry for himself. That eventually passed and then the guilt swept over him in a heavy wave. He shouldn’t have gone off on Dean like that.  
Sam tried calling him to apologize, but his brother didn’t pick up.

_He’s probably busy getting drunk off his ass._

Knowing that Dean was drinking _because of him_ made Sam feel even guiltier. It was times like this where he questioned what kind of person he was. He honestly couldn’t tell if he was a good person anymore. Sure, he did good things, but did that make him good? Did the bad things even make him bad? He just didn’t know.

Sam just sat there, confused, not sure of what to do. And then he heard something. It sounded eerily similar to the chanting of his name he’d heard the night before. But Sam followed the sound.

It led him to his room. He flicked on the light, half expecting to see someone standing there. The room was empty. The voice had quieted, but he still felt a pull of some sort.

With hardly a thought he sat down at his desk and took out the amulet. 

The blue light that emanated from it no longer felt harsh and cruel and bitingly cold. Rather, it felt warm and comforting. Sam didn’t understand the change, but as he watched the energy slowly dance inside the gem, he didn’t question it. It was beautiful, and it calmed him.

For now, he didn’t have to answer if he was good or bad. He just relaxed, letting himself fall into the glowing cobalt depths. 

Slowly, his eyes drifted closed, and he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	5. Missing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up in the middle of the woods, and he's not alone out there.

Sam Winchester awoke in the middle of the woods. Disoriented and frightened, he scrambled to get to his feet, rustling a great number of leaves as he did so. His mind was foggy from his sudden awakening and it took some time to pull himself together. His head darted around, looking for any signs of danger. When he found none he forced himself to relax his muscles and take deep breaths; it wouldn’t do to freak out in a situation like this.

Once his initial surprise died down he was able to process other things; like the fact that he could barely feel his hands and feet, his fingers were a light blue, he was shivering, and a headache was pounding away in his skull. He winced, putting a hand to his head.

_What happened last night?_

The last thing he remembered was arguing with Dean. And then… and then he’d woken up here. Where was here anyway?

Sam looked around some more, but didn’t recognize any of his surroundings.

_Maybe my phone has a signal._

Thankfully when he checked his pockets his phone was still there. However, he had difficulty getting it out and switching the screen on. After some fumbling in which he nearly dropped it he learned two things.

One, his phone was almost dead.

Two, there wasn’t a signal.

_Great, now what?_

He contemplated starting a fire, but he looked down at his numbed hands. In this condition he was practically useless, so starting a fire was out of the question. 

Thoughts seemed to be coming to him slowly, and for a time he just stood there, trying to figure out what to do next.

_Come on, Sam, think!_

Nothing came to him. It was like there was fog in his brain, keeping his thoughts from forming properly. 

He looked to the sky; taking note of the low position of the sun and the gray cloudy haze in the air. It set a dreary light to everything, speaking of a morning that in an hour or so promised rain.

Idly, he began wondering how he’d gotten out there. He stopped those thoughts from carrying him away. It wouldn’t matter how he’d gotten out there if he didn’t start walking, otherwise, this would become his grave.

Using the sun as a guide, Sam picked a direction to head in - north. He rubbed his hands together as he walked and breathed on them, trying to get them to warm up. 

Sam’s foot kicked something, and he stumbled. It hadn’t felt like a rock, so he looked down, trying to see what the object was. There was a faint glint of light coming from under some leaves, and he leaned down to move them out of the way. 

Amongst the brown and rust-colored foliage on the ground he saw it, the amulet. He picked it up, barely feeling the metal touching his skin. 

_What the hell?_

A violent shiver wracked his body, and when it passed Sam quickly came to a decision. He placed the chain of the amulet around his neck, and then continued walking. He could try and figure all this out later. He just had to get somewhere warm first.

As he walked he hoped and prayed that he was heading in the right direction. Maybe he wasn’t as far from the bunker as he thought, maybe Dean was out looking for him.

_Either that or he’s passed out at a bar somewhere._

Sam dashed the thought aside. It wasn’t too difficult really. It was almost like it was consumed by the fog in his mind. The pounding in his head soon seemed to be more of a problem than the cold; maybe because he could sense it more. 

A large maple tree loomed in front of him, and as Sam veered out of the way he tripped on something. He fell to the ground, hard. He was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation in both palms of his hands and his right knee. He tried getting up, but his left foot was hooked on something. With a groan Sam rolled over and tried to truly take stock of the situation.

A startled shout left him when he saw what he’d fallen over. Hidden partially by the leaves and the roots of the tree was the body of a woman, and by the looks of it she hadn’t even been dead for a day. Fear began pumping through Sam and he clambered to his feet. 

Another violent shiver took over him and he had to rest his weight against the tree. It was either that or fall on the corpse.

The woman might have been African American; Sam only had her facial features to go off of. Her skin looked unnaturally smooth and was a sickly blueish black. He’d seen a lot of bizarre things and a lot of death, but stumbling upon a corpse like this wasn’t something his stomach seemed to enjoy. Sam looked away, swallowing the excess saliva his body was now making. 

When he got himself under control he looked back to the woman. He’d never seen anything quite like this in person, but from what he could tell, every single exposed part of her skin had fallen prey to severe frostbite. He knew it was cold, but he didn’t think it was _that_ cold. She’d been dead for a few hours, at least; the lack of flies around the body told him that. So now he wondered, what had she been doing out in the woods at night? Then again, what had he been doing?

A rather unpleasant idea came to him, and instantly, Sam turned away and continued heading north.

_No. I couldn’t have. That can’t possibly be my fault. Then what else could’ve done it? Nothing hurt me, there’s nothing else out here. There’s just me. But how…?_

Sam didn’t understand what was happening, but he did his best to move as quickly as possible. The physical exertion was warming him up a bit and his hands started tingling. The tingling soon grew unpleasant because now he could feel the scrapes on the palms of his hands. And now every step jarred the cut on his knee. Sam could easily deal with pain, but that didn’t make the experience pleasant. 

He couldn’t be sure of how much time passed as he walked. Sometimes it felt like hours, other times it felt like mere minutes. He just knew that he shouldn’t look back. He was too frightened. Irrationally, he felt that if he did turn and look back he’d see the body of the dead woman again.

Time passed, Sam wasn’t sure how much time, and he found himself at a stream. He’d have to cross it, something he didn’t want to do while he was still trying to warm himself up. So he began walking along it, trying to see if it narrowed and he’d be able to step across. The ground began sloping upwards, and Sam’s steps slowed. The stream seemed to be thinning a little. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

Something a few feet ahead of him caught his eye. There was a cluster of boulders, but part of it looked rather irregular. He made his way over, and was met with his second inexplicable sight of the morning. A man lay between the boulders, and an arm was held up to shield his face. His entire body was made completely of stone. 

Sam found himself just staring. It’d crossed his mind earlier that maybe what he’d been hunting was out there with him, but now it seemed like what Dean was hunting was there as well. But, all was quiet except for the babbling of the stream. It was just him. 

But that couldn’t possibly mean anything, could it? Maybe monsters _had_ been out there and they’d moved on. But… Sam couldn’t remember last night. It was entirely possible…

“No,” he said aloud, feeling as if the verbal utterance of it would make it true. 

Rather, hearing his voice break the relative peace of the woods unnerved him. So once again, Sam brushed the thought aside and he kept walking. 

Eventually he did come to a part of the stream where he could easily step over it, and then he continued heading north. 

He continued to warm up as he walked, but the air felt cold to his throat and lungs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of some unnatural shape in the color of stone. He didn’t dare look. As he walked he saw more of them out of the corner of his eye, some bodies of stone, others with horrifyingly pale skin, and some still that were nearly black. Shivers ran through him, and this time not at all from the cold. 

Unable to stop himself, Sam began to run. He didn’t understand what was happening, and it frightened him so much. He ran and ran and ran, and eventually, he left the bodies behind. Soon he began to think that maybe he’d just been seeing things. He hoped that’s what had happened. It was better than…

_No. Not gonna think that. I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t have._

_Then what am I doing all the way out here?_

Sam slowed his pace and then let out a cry that spoke of fear and confusion. He also took the time to catch his breath, and when he straightened, relief swept through him, because he was met with the sight of the entrance to the bunker.

Exhaustion poured over him, and suddenly, walking the last twenty feet or so seemed like a difficult task. However, he forced himself to take step after step, and finally, he stumbled inside. 

Luckily, just before he began to hear the patters of rain against the roof.

The bunker felt so pleasantly warm compared to the chill of the fall air outside. And once Sam closed the door he just sunk down onto the floor, resting and soaking up the warmth.

There were footsteps and then Dean ran into the war room.

“Sam!” he shouted when he saw him, and then he was rushing up the stairs.

He felt his brother at his side, and then he was grabbing one of his arms, putting it over his shoulder.

“Sam, what the hell happened to you?”

He blinked and fought back the grogginess that seemed to be taking over him and he said, “I was… I was out… in the woods.”

“What?” Dean asked in a panic. “Why?”

“Don’t know. I just woke up there.”

Dean got him down the stairs and settled into a chair.

“I’ll be right back,” he told him. “I’m gonna get you some blankets.”

Sam nodded and then wiped at his face. He noticed that he seemed to be shaking. He didn’t feel cold anymore, but he knew it wasn’t from that. It was from what he’d seen out there. Things were bad. Very bad.

When Dean came back he had two blankets with him and he started wrapping them around Sam. Sam held up a hand to stop him, starting to say something about not needing them. 

Then, Dean grabbed his hand, most likely noticing the blood on his palm. 

“What happened?” he asked.

“I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yeah, I tripped.”

And then Sam looked away, not sure how to tell Dean about what it was he’d tripped on.

“You hurt anywhere else?” his older brother asked, looking him over.

Sam nodded. “My other hand and my right knee. Nothing too serious though.”

“This all seems serious to me. When I came back here last night you were just gone. No note, no nothing.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, you were sober enough to realize that?”

Dean looked down, rubbing at the back of his head. “Well, I may have not actually noticed till I woke up this morning.” His cheeks were red with shame.

“Dean, I’m not mad,” Sam told him. “About last night, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things.”

“I’m sorry too.” He sat down on the table, a big sigh leaving him. “So what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Honestly, you leaving after our fight. That’s it.”

And that was when Dean noticed the amulet hanging around his neck. He pointed at it.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” he asked in alarm, nearly reaching out for the chain. 

Sam wrapped the blankets around himself to keep it from Dean as he pulled back.

“Nothing. I just… it was in the woods near where I woke up.”

“So you took that thing and went out in the woods?”

Sam shrugged. “Seems that way.”

“Okay, you know what, this is too serious, I’m calling Cas, and I don’t care what he’s doing. I’m gonna make sure he gets his feathery ass down here.” 

Dean started taking his phone out of his pocket and Sam said, “Wait. There’s something else.”

He looked up from the screen, his green eyes filled with worry. 

“On my way back, I saw things. Well, more than things, really. Bodies. I saw bodies. A lot of them. Some were stone, others were frostbitten or just frozen. I… I don’t know what happened last night, Dean, but I think…” Sam looked away, unable to finish that sentence.

“You think what?” Dean prompted gently.

Sam’s adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed back a virulent tide of emotion. 

Seconds passed and he was able to meet Dean’s gaze. “I think I killed them.”


	6. Consider It Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, believing Crowley has turned on him, confronts him. A demon by the name of Vadrach shows displeasure about Crowley's willingness to work with an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's this awesome thing called leaving comments, maybe some of you should try it. (Sorry for my sass, I'm just curious to know what you guys are thinking about my story.)

Crowley was almost constantly receiving new reports from the demons he’d sent out to keep tabs on whatever had risen from the earth, and with each new detail he and Castiel would discuss it. They still hadn’t come to any conclusions, but Cas had a suspicion that they weren’t looking at the whole picture, that something was missing. He’d wanted to discuss that with Crowley, but some rather angry demons had barged into the throne room and had complained about Crowley missing a numerous amount of meetings with his various advisers and council members. So he’d shown Castiel to a room and had told him to “make himself at home”. That wasn’t something the angel found easy given that he was in a fortress teeming with demons.

The room, just like any other in this godforsaken place, was drab, all grays and dark hues. It was so very… Crowley. In fact, Castiel could tell why the demon liked this place. The stone walls and floor spoke of something ancient and powerful rather than anything modern. It rather did remind Castiel of a castle; just not a pleasant one. This particular room didn’t have much in it: a bed, a leather armchair, and a mirror. He wondered why the King of Hell had such a room in his fortress; demons didn’t need sleep. 

Castiel settled for sitting in the chair, and he found himself thinking about why this room existed. Something was off about this, but he didn’t know what. Eventually his mind went back to the issue at hand; the creature that had begun to take lives. 

As much as he tried to think back to what the energy surge from the other night had felt like, and though something about it did seem familiar, he couldn’t put his finger on it. Times like this Castiel rather regretted the damage he’d done to Heaven. The guilt from that always followed him around, and he doubted it would ever leave, but now, he wished he could turn to his brothers and sisters. Surely one of them would know what was going on.

Those thoughts eventually spiraled down into self-doubt. What was he doing thinking he could actually figure this out? Of course he couldn’t. This wasn’t what he was used to dealing with.

The angel had now taken his phone out of his pocket, fiddling with it as he considered calling Sam and Dean for help. However, one thought stopped him: if he did call them then what would he tell them? He already knew that Dean was mad at him for not meeting with him and Sam. In fact, Castiel was angry with himself about that as well. He had thought that working with Crowley on this would be beneficial, but it rather seemed like the King of Hell was trying to control him. If that was the case he wanted to know why.

After some deliberation he decided that he didn’t care that Crowley was having a meeting; he was going to have a long talk with him.

Castiel rose from the chair, opened the old wooden door and began to make his way out of the room. However, a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He bristled from the feeling of the tainted and twisted soul that touched him, and he turned to face the demon in question.

A glare was all it took for the demon to let go. 

“His majesty has requested that you stay in the room he’s given you,” he told Cas, not quite meeting his gaze.

“And why’s that?”

Now the demon met his eyes, and he shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“I need to speak with Crowley,” Cas informed him.

“While here you must treat him with the respect that his title grants.” Castiel raised an eyebrow, not quite getting what the demon was saying. “M-meaning that you refer to him as King Crowley, his royal highness, or his majesty.”

This was ridiculous, and once again, things weren’t quite adding up. “I’m _not_ one of his subjects,” Cas explained, seething from having been spoken to in such a way. 

“I-I understand that, it’s just-“

Castiel cut him off, “Take me to Crowley.”

The demon’s stance was hesitant, suggesting that he wanted to take a step back. But Crowley had given him a job to do, and Cas knew he was going to try and follow through.

“Get back in the room,” he ordered.

That did it.

With hardly a thought Castiel conjured his angel blade, stepped closer to the demon and grabbed the back of his head so that he couldn’t move away from the weapon now placed against his throat. 

“Take me to Crowley,” he demanded in a low, threatening tone.

For a while he and the demon just stared at each other. Castiel could tell he was afraid, and eventually he’d cave. 

The demon licked his lips as if they’d suddenly gone dry. “If you could please put the knife away I’d be happy to take you to him.”

Cas released him, and decided to do as he asked. Besides, if they ran into any other demons it’d look rather suspicious for him to have a weapon on him.

The demon straightened the suit jacket he wore, directed a worried look at Castiel, and then began leading him down the hallway. 

 

“…and Lamazar now thinks that she should get a promotion within the ranks of crossroad demons,” Vadrach finished, looking up from his sheet of paper at Crowley.

Sometimes Crowley rather regretted taking Ramiel up on his offer to rule Hell. Sure, the power was nice, but all the different parts of managing Hell were rather boring. Like now, for instance. He didn’t care that Lamazar had gotten a big head and wanted a promotion. Why couldn’t the other demons just suck it up and deal with her over-inflated ego?

With nothing to say on the matter, Crowley just waved his hand in a gesture that meant for Vadrach to move on to the next issue.

Vadrach pursed his already thin lips into a line of displeasure, but flipped to the next page.

“Item number-“

“Sixty-six,” Crowley interrupted. “Yes, I know, now go on.”

Vadrach looked a little startled about being interrupted, but then said, “There are still a number of demons that are displeased with your past dealings with the Winchesters and the angel Castiel. Word hasn’t spread of your current association with the angel, but-“

Crowley raised a hand, cutting Vadrach off, and he straightened in his throne. “This isn’t actually item number sixty-six, is it?”

Vadrach looked up from the paper, his dark brown eyes worried. And then he shook his head.

“So what you’re telling me,” Crowley began, “is that I’m not allowed to make my own decisions.”

“That isn’t what-“

“I’m the bloody king!” he yelled. “If I decide that I’m going to work with the Winchesters, I’m going to work with the Winchesters. And the same goes for their pet angel. Do I make myself clear?!”

Vadrach nodded, and looked away again.

Crowley knew it’d only been a matter of time before that issue got brought up again. Many demons disagreed with his alliances, and securing his continued reign was something he now constantly struggled with. A spark of anger flared in him as he thought of the Winchester he counted responsible for that; Sam. Some days he just blamed it all on Sam. After that whole mess with the Trials, Crowley had been changed. He didn’t always like to admit it, but he didn’t think he’d ever go back to the terrifying, ruthless, cruel being he once was. And many demons saw that as a weakness. Crowley didn’t blame them. He saw it as a weakness at times as well, but that didn’t mean he was just going to give up the throne. 

Vadrach had continued speaking, but now Crowley wasn’t listening. He was still miffed about him expressing his, as well as other demons’, displeasure. Besides, compared to what he and Castiel had been working on, this was an absolute bore.

 

It’d only taken two minutes for the demon to turn on Castiel. His sense of duty must’ve overridden his fear. As Cas walked behind him he suddenly turned and struck out with a fist. Before he’d done so Cas had sensed a change from him, a sort of tension building up, so he was able to dodge the blow that was aimed at his chin.

More punches were aimed at him, the power behind them enough to cause some serious damage, but Castiel avoided all of them. As the angel and the demon danced around the hallway he tried to think of what to do. If he did nothing he’d probably get dragged back to that room, and then he’d have to wait until Crowley was ready to talk to him. At this point, that didn’t seem the best option. This attack from the demon just proved Castiel’s suspicions correct; Crowley had turned on him. His other option wasn’t the best either. Dispose of the demon and then go see Crowley anyway. That one was particularly dangerous given the fact that this wasn’t the only demon in the building. His body would eventually be found, and Cas, being the only angel in the area, would be the prime suspect. They’d go after him. However, if he moved fast enough, that wouldn’t have to be a problem.

Rather than dodging the next blow aimed at him, Cas blocked it with his right hand and grabbed the demon’s fist, crushing his knuckles in an iron grip. A strangled cry left the demon, which was accompanied by multiple cracks of breaking bone. Castiel released him just as he punched the demon in the side of the face, driving him back. He conjured his angel blade in his right hand, stepped forward, and drove it up into his rib cage. There wasn’t time for him to scream. His mouth opened in surprise and agony, and then, he sparked out in orange, flickering light. Cas pulled his angel blade free of him, letting him drop to the floor with a heavy thump. 

And then, he hurried to Crowley’s throne room.

The King of Hell was meeting with someone when he barged in, and two pairs of eyes fell on him. He still had his angel blade out, not bothering to conceal that he was displeased. If he had to fight, he would.

“Get out,” Cas told the demon who was staring at him with wide eyes.

Crowley seemed rather calm as he sat in his throne, which was odd.

The demon turned to his king, a questioning look on his face, to which Crowley said, “You are dismissed.”

“But sire-“

“Like the angel said, Vadrach, _get out_.”

The demon gave a hurried bow, and then left the room, keeping well away from Cas and his angel blade. 

After the door closed, Cas strode up to Crowley.

“What can I do for you?” he asked as if nothing was wrong.

“Explain to me why there was a _guard_ outside my door.”

“Oh, that’s what’s bothering you?”

Castiel said nothing, which prompted Crowley to go on.

“Well, as you may know, keeping one’s reign secure isn’t something that’s done easily. There are so many different groups you have to appease. Some of my demons – not all – disapprove of my friendship with you and the Winchesters.” On the word “friendship” Crowley raised his hands, making air quotes. “So, to make some of them happy, you have become my… special guest.”

“And by that you mean prisoner,” Castiel surmised.

“Precisely. However, that’s only what I want some of my demons to think. You’re not my prisoner, Castiel.”

The angel tilted his head at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

“I’m not,” Crowley said as he got up from his throne and went over to him. “Look, Castiel, I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but you’re here because I need you. There’s something going on, something big, I suspect, and I need your expertise.”

Castiel squinted his eyes at him. If he had to manipulate himself he’d say some very similar things. He was using the fact that he didn’t always find himself useful, trying to make him feel like he was needed.

Crowley sensed his uncertainty. “Come on, if you were really my prisoner, wouldn’t I do a better job of keeping you locked up? I assume you killed the stupid guard I assigned to you, and I really don’t care. I wanted to get rid of him anyway.”

“So you’re using me.”

“When you put it like that it sounds rather awful, doesn’t it?”

Deciding that he wouldn’t have to do any more fighting, Castiel flipped his angel blade and stowed it in his trench coat. 

“I’d expect nothing less from the king of the damned.”

Crowley put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, and the angel just stared at it until he let go.

“Look, I need you,” he explained, “and you need my resources in order to figure out what that whole energy surge was about. The way I see it, we both benefit from this.”

“Yet I’m the one who’s supposedly your prisoner.”

“Consider it insurance.”

Castiel eyed him as he thought. He could see things from Crowley’s perspective, and he realized that were he truly a prisoner he wouldn’t have even been able to get to the throne room. It made sense that the King of Hell benefited from having him here, and truth be told, Castiel really did need Crowley. The Winchesters were going through their own crisis, so for now, working with Crowley was the best he could do.

“I don’t like this,” Cas told him, “but I’ll go along with it.”

“Glad we understand each other.”

Just then, the doors to the throne room burst open and a demon walked in, her long blonde hair flowing behind her. 

“Sire, we have a situation,” she announced. Then she paused, noticing Cas. “Sire?”

Cas moved to stand by Crowley, also facing the demon.

“Whatever you have to say you can say in front of Feathers.”

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the annoying nickname.

The demon before them hesitated for a moment, but then she said, “Sire, it’s Cethra. She’s dead.”

At this, Crowley froze up. Castiel recognized the name. It was one of the demons Crowley had sent out to search for the creature that’d caused the energy surge.

“How?” he demanded of her.

“We don’t know,” she informed him. “The group you sent out decided to split up to cover more ground. Sanren found her in the woods. She’d been turned to stone.”

Crowley turned to Cas, now addressing him. “I’ve got to take care of this. You stay here, and stay quiet. I don’t want to come back and find out you’ve slaughtered all my people I have here.”

Cas simply nodded his head in understanding, and then Crowley turned back to the demon. “Take me to her.”

And with that, the demon led him out of the throne room and Castiel was left utterly alone.


	7. Amulet of the Deathless One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to recover after his night in the woods. Dean calls Castiel, and Sam gets a call from the mysterious Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't sass you guys this time, but reviews are pretty great. I honestly want to know what you're thinking. Do you like the story? If so, what parts do you like the most? Do you have any predictions? Seriously, anything. Having a silent audience is a little awkward. And yes, I know some of you are reviewing and I'd like to thank you (you know who you are).

It took Dean a minute or two to mull over Sam’s words. And yet, he still couldn’t quite grasp what his brother had said.

“You think you what?”

Now Sam spoke slowly, “I think I killed them.”

Dean was shaking his head. “Look, Sam, I get that you don’t know what happened last night, but killing all those people? That’s not something you could’ve done. Clearly some sort of magic was involved.”

“Okay, then where’s the monster that did it?” Dean didn’t have an answer for that and Sam went on, “I was the only one out there with them, Dean. I’m sure of it.” And then, he held up the amulet, ignoring the cuts on his bloodied palm. “This was with me. For all we know I could’ve somehow used it to kill them.”

Dean put his hand out in a motion that told Sam to lower the amulet, and he did. “If that had some sort of power wouldn’t Rowena have told us?” Sam looked away from Dean as he thought about his words. “She said that something’s going to happen to you, and that’s that. I don’t think you’d be able to use that for anything if it’s gonna hurt you somewhere down the line.” 

Dean lowered his head and wiped at his face. His head hurt, no doubt from a hangover, but this mess seemed to be making it hurt even more. When he looked up, Sam had his jaw clenched, and he was clearly thinking over all that he’d seen. He couldn’t let his brother get stuck in those dark thoughts. Given the way he’d blown up at him the night before he was already in a bad place. 

He’d been that way since the meeting with Rowena, and Dean didn’t totally understand why, but he knew he didn’t like it.

“Come on, Sam, I know there are things that don’t make sense here, but let’s not jump to conclusions. From what you described it seems like what I’m hunting might be responsible.”

His brother’s body was still tense, but he said, “Yeah, mine too.”

“So just get yourself cleaned up, and then we can try and figure this out, okay?”

For a while Sam just sat there, and Dean caught him looking down at the amulet again, but he eventually nodded his head.

He watched his little brother leave the room, and then he put his face in his hands again. 

_God, why did I have to drink the night before? My brother needs me and I’m a disaster._

_Pull yourself together, Dean._

Black coffee helping hangovers was just a myth, and Dean knew that, but boy, was he going to need some if he wanted to clear his head. 

He thought about all that’d happened in the past two days as he set about making a large pot of coffee; Sam finding the amulet, the meeting with Rowena, Cas supposedly being busy, the people getting turned to stone and others dying of hypothermia and severe frost bite, Sam going missing the night before. And, he couldn’t help but think that Sam’s low mood might be connected to this as well. Or something in the mess that had been the last two days had contributed to it. His best guess was Rowena, but that he didn’t understand, and he had a feeling that Sam wouldn’t want to talk about what was going on with him. Dean wouldn’t push him, but somehow they were going to have to connect all the dots, and if his current emotional issues happened to be a factor in all this, then that was just something they were going to have to deal with.

 

Before taking care of his minor injuries Sam knew he should shower; he still had some warming up to do. So after grabbing a proper outfit to change into Sam went to the bathroom and undressed. The dress pants he’d had on since he’d started that case the day before were now ripped and bloodied from his fall in the woods, so he just threw those away.

As Sam turned the shower on and waited for the water to heat up he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and to his surprise he was still wearing the amulet. He looked down at it, wondering why he’d neglected to take it off earlier.

With one bloodied hand he grasped it, about to lift the chain off over his head, and then, he stopped himself. He didn’t quite understand why he did so, but the thought of taking the amulet off was unpleasant. 

He lifted it to peer at. There was this inexplicable feeling that something had changed, something about him or the amulet, but he didn’t know what. It looked the same, and when he touched it nothing happened. Curiously, he ran a finger over the gem itself. 

A bright flash of blue light entered his mind, and a scene played out in his thoughts; him entering his room and taking out the amulet, having been drawn in by it’s luciferous energy, calm washing over him, and then placing the amulet around his neck, and leaving the bunker. The memory ended there, and Sam found himself breathing heavily as he stared at the amulet. Somehow it’d gained a temporary semblance of control over him.

Sam knew what Dean had said, but now, with that memory regained, it was impossible to think that he was innocent when it came to the bodies strewn throughout the woods. 

_It has to be the amulet. It has to._

Though he told himself that, he wasn’t so sure. Sam had killed before. He knew it was part of being a hunter, but would it really be so difficult for him to make the switch to killing humans? Had the amulet simply strengthened something that already lay within him?

Steam began to surround him and he realized he’d just been standing there, so he climbed into the shower. The hot water renewed the stinging in his injuries tenfold and he winced. At times shallow injuries actually seemed to hurt more than the deep ones. 

He actually laughed as he thought about that. Here he was after what might have been a night of murder and he was thinking about some stupid scrapes.

After a while he realized that there was one discomfort that was missing: the headache. He didn’t understand why he’d had one earlier. Sam wasn’t a medical expert or anything, but he was pretty sure that hypothermia didn’t come with a headache. Now that his mind was working properly and he had time to think about it, it frightened him that he’d suffered from at least a mild form of hypothermia. Had he woken up later he could’ve died out there. Sam had literally faced death before, but he was used to doing it head-on. The thought that it could’ve happened to him without him putting up a fight, without him even realizing it, was incredibly unnerving. Despite the heat of the water that pelted his skin he shivered. 

Maybe he’d just gotten a headache from sleeping on the ground. Sam decided to go with that explanation, though something told him that there was more to it than that. There was more to all of this than what he could see or make sense of; that much he knew. But no matter how many times he mulled things over in his mind nothing new came to him.

Sam took a much longer shower than usual, and he’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d nearly forgotten to wash up, but he eventually got out and got dressed. He also bandaged his hands to keep them from getting infected.

When he made his way into the bunker library, Dean was there, a cup of coffee in his hands and a book in front of him.

Sam frowned at the unfamiliar sight. He knew Dean did enjoy reading, just not doing research; the two activities had their differences.

“You’re actually doing research for once?” Sam asked him.

Dean retorted, “You decided to take a century long shower, so I got bored.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he sat down across from him. He was about to open his mouth to say something, but Dean asked, “So, have any good fantasies while you were in there?”

“Shut up.”

Dean looked up, and their eyes met. They both knew that this current bantering was an attempt to adhere to their normal routine and interactions. It was easier than facing the issue at hand.

But, realizing they’d have to eventually, Dean said, “I’ve been doing some digging, and I found something the Men of Letters wrote about the amulet.” 

He turned the book over to Sam, whose eyes began to roam the open pages curiously. There was a detailed drawing of the amulet, and underneath it were the words, “The Amulet of the Deathless One”. Other than that, there was nothing. The page was dated at the top left-hand corner, _August 11th, 1958_ , meaning the entry had been made the day before Abaddon had laid waste to the Men of Letters – the research into this artifact had been cut short.

“Great,” Sam muttered.

Knowing what he was referring to Dean agreed, “Yep.”

“The Amulet of the Deathless One,” Sam mused. “What do you think that even means?”

“Deathless One makes me think of immortality, so maybe some immortal dude-“

“Or woman,” Sam added.

“-made the amulet and it belonged to them.”

There was silence as both brothers thought over what that could mean. 

“Whatever’s going on with that it’s possible our two cases are linked to it. I mean, two men get turned to stone, you find your case which is somehow connected, you go missing for a night, more people turn up dead, and this all started happening after you found that thing. Speaking of which…” Dean’s eyes lowered to the amulet, which Sam still wore around his neck. “What the hell are you still doing with that on?”

Sam shrugged.

“Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?”

“I’ve already touched the gem and potentially started all this,” Sam explained. “I don’t think wearing it is going to change anything.”

Dean gave him a scrutinizing look, but then decided to let the point go. “I have no clue how we’re gonna figure all this out,” he muttered. “There are just too many different pieces.”

“There are.”

“Do you have any other information that might help?” Sam shook his head, and to that Dean slapped the table lightly with both hands. “You know what, at this point I’m definitely calling Cas.”

He took out his phone and Sam grabbed his arm. “Can we hold off on that?”

His older brother frowned at him and asked incredulously, “Why?”

Sam didn’t have a good answer for that. The thought of getting someone else involved made him anxious. What if they wanted to take the amulet away from him?

When he remained silent Dean asked skeptically, “Are you okay, man? I get that you were out in the woods all night, but you’re kinda acting funny.”

“No, I’m fine,” Sam responded quickly. 

He thought he was. Sure, he’d been feeling off since the meeting with Rowena, but he already knew that his emotions about that weren’t connected to the amulet in any way.

Sam let go of his brother’s arm, but Dean continued to watch him, just waiting for him to do something strange.

“I’m not gonna blow up or anything,” Sam huffed. “Just call your boyfriend already.”

Dean’s scrutinizing look turned into a glare, but without another word he dialed Cas’ number.

Sam knew it was out of line for him to angrily refer to Castiel as Dean’s boyfriend. The two had a close relationship, so it was only natural that Dean would be angry about not knowing what he was up to. In fact, knowing his brother, the anger was most likely his way of channeling the worry he had for him and Castiel. So, Sam lowered his head a little, his lips pressing together in an apologetic look. Dean gave a little nod, and then Cas picked up.

Sam would’ve paid attention to the phone call except his own phone started ringing. It was an unknown number, but he picked up, thinking that it could potentially be Ivan. It was.

As Ivan began to talk on the other line Sam left the room and headed towards the kitchen, ignoring the curious expression on Dean’s face.

To his surprise Ivan skipped right past a greeting and simply said, “I remembered more about finding Rachel Barnes’ body, and I think we should meet up.”

“Yeah, sure. Where were you thinking?”

“There’s a diner just across the park where her body was found. I’m thinking there would be a good place.”

“Okay, so 12:00 sound good?” Sam suggested.

“I’ll be there.”

With that the strange man hung up.

Something was odd about that phone call. Ivan hadn’t used street names, or the names of any places. It sounded like he was unfamiliar with where he was. Of course, maybe that was the truth. He could simply be visiting for work or something.

Sam went back into the library and Dean was just ending his call with Cas.

“What’d Cas say?”

“Who was that?”

Both questions were asked at the same time, and Sam gestured for Dean to go first.

“Castiel’s gonna finally get his ass down here. Hopefully he can actually help us.”

“When do you think he’ll be here?”

“Tomorrow afternoon most likely. So who was that on the phone?”

“Just some guy I met up with yesterday for my case. He says he has more information, so I’m gonna go meet him.”

“Is that really a good idea?”

Sam was already making his way to the other side of the room so he could get to the section of hallways his bedroom was located in as he answered, “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should wait for Cas!” Dean called to him after he left the library.

“Too late! Already said I’d meet him at 12:00!”

A muffled groan of displeasure met his ears, but other than that his brother was silent.

After donning a jacket, Sam passed through the library on his way out of the bunker. Before he could get to the war room, Dean stopped him.

“Don’t you think you should take the amulet off?” his brother asked him.

Sam looked down at it. He hadn’t even realized he was about to leave with it on. 

For some reason taking the chain off from around his neck proved an unpleasant experience. After holding it for a few seconds, deciding whether it mattered if he left with it on or not, Sam resolutely dropped it onto the still-open book where it landed with a muted thud. And then he left, resisting the urge to pick it up and place it around his neck once more.

 

Dean made sure the bunker door closed before he slid the book across the table towards him. Something was different about Sam, and he knew it was more than just what had happened to him the previous night. It seemed like his brother had grown some sort of attachment to the dangerous artifact. For the time being, maybe it’d be best for him to keep the amulet with him, at least, just until Castiel could have a look at it.

He glanced down at the amulet and the book. The way the amulet had fallen didn’t quite match up with the picture that’d been drawn of it, and part of the chain lay across the other page, leaving the words “Amulet of the Deathless One” uncovered.

 _Amulet of the Deathless One…_ he mused. _What have we gotten ourselves into?_


	8. When the King's Not Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley investigates Cethra's death, and talks to Dean. Castiel, while trying to leave, runs into a complication.

Crowley didn’t harbor much emotion for Cethra, but she’d been old enough to know what she was doing, so the fact that something had managed to outwit her was unsettling. He stared at her stone face, wondering how something like this could have happened. Rather than a demon being there it now looked like a stone statue, standing with one hand against the rough bark of a tree. Her face was etched with surprise. The three other demons with him were studying her as well.

“So you found her, Sanren?” Crowley eventually asked. 

The tall, dark-skinned demon to his right answered, “Yes, my lord.”

“Tell me, did she scream?”

“Pardon?”

Crowley now turned his gaze on the demon. “Before you found her like this did you hear her scream at all?”

Sanren shook his head. “Whatever it was I think it snuck up on her.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“There _were_ tracks.”

“Were?”

“It rained earlier and they got washed away.”

Crowley closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as he felt anger boil up in him. Then he asked, his voice quiet and restrained, “Did you manage to follow them?”

“Yes.”

That answer had been unexpected, but of course, he found something else to target with his frustration.

“Really?”

Sanren nodded.

Crowley turned his entire body to him and then asked, “Then why are you showing me this useless lump of stone when you could be taking me to the thing that did it?!”

Startled from Crowley’s sudden change in volume Sanren took a step back, and the two other demons visibly tensed.

The frightened demon looked down at his shoes as he began to mutter, “I-it’s just, um, the tracks, they um…”

“Speak up,” Crowley ordered, his commanding tone cracking like a whip.

Sanren swallowed back his fear and then answered, his voice stronger, “I followed them until the rain picked up. The tracks had been going in one direction, so after they washed away I kept going. Eventually I happened across a building that seemed to be abandoned. There were all kinds of wardings on it so I didn’t dare go closer. And on the way, I um… I found more bodies. Well, some of them were dead bodies, others were statues like…” He’d begun to ramble and he seemed to notice Crowley’s displeasure with that, so he finished quietly, “Cethra.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Crowley said. “I need to make a call.”

He stepped well away from the other demons and took his phone out of his pocket. Somehow, this did in fact have a connection to the Winchesters. Otherwise, tracks from Cethra’s body wouldn’t have led back to the bunker. Of course, Crowley wasn’t going to inform his demons that that was where the Winchesters were holed up. They didn’t need to deal with demons hounding them whenever they stepped outside the door.

The King of Hell went to his contacts, found “Not Moose”, and then pressed the call button. 

The phone didn’t ring for long and then the older Winchester brother irritably asked, “What is it, Crowley?”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he said in a rather cheerful tone.

“I’m trying to work on something here, so unless this is important you can just hang up.”

Crowley found himself pacing as he continued talking, his steps taking him farther away from Sanren and the others. “As a matter of fact it is. I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did one of you two idiots think it was a good idea to go running around the woods in the middle of the night?”

Dean paused, giving Crowley the idea that he definitely knew a bit about what was going on. “How do you know about that?” he eventually asked.

“That’s none of your beeswax. So come on, which one of you was it?”

“Sam.”

“Ah, Moose. How’s he doing?”

“Oh he’s just peachy,” Dean answered sarcastically. “Can’t even remember what happened to him last night. He trudged into the bunker this morning as cold as an ice cube.”

Crowley glanced back where the other demons were talking quietly amongst themselves, most likely trying to decide what to do with the demon-turned-statue. A laugh almost left Crowley when it crossed his mind that maybe he could take her back to his little palace and keep her as a decoration.

Then he turned his mind back to the discussion at hand. So somehow Sam was responsible for what had happened to his demon. Either that or someone wanted all of them to think he was responsible.

“Is Sam there?” Crowley asked. “I’m thinking he and I need to have a little chat.”

The hunter answered gruffly, “He went out.”

“That’s too bad. I’d love to stop by for a drink.”

“Crowley, this is serious,” Dean growled. “I don’t know what’s going on, okay? I don’t understand any of it. And it seems like things are getting pretty bad. So if you wanna come over I’ll lower the warding and let you in, but if not, just let met get back to figuring this out.”

“You really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed, didn’t you?” Crowley asked. The hunter just let out an annoyed growl and Crowley added, “Just so you know, Dean, things can always get worse.”

With that he hung up. Let Dean chew on that for a while. In truth, Crowley was interested in seeing him, but he’d left Castiel alone for too long. The angel could’ve gotten himself into trouble. 

_Oh, the complications of ruling a kingdom._

 

Not long after Crowley had left, Castiel received a call from Dean, and thankfully, with the King of Hell no longer breathing down his neck, he would be able to meet up with him. Besides, it’d be best for him to get himself out of this situation. There was an abundance of things that could easily go wrong. 

He made his way to the doors of the throne room, making sure to step lightly. Then, the angel pressed his ear against the door, listening for any sounds out in the hallway that would alert him to the presence of a demon. All was silent, so he opened the doors and stepped out.

Castiel jogged down the hallway, knowing he’d have to move fast. In his time here he’d counted at least twenty-five demons inside this makeshift fortress, and there was only one of him. 

He made his way down a few hallways. At one point he’d had to duck into an empty room as a pair of demons passed him, but other than that there weren’t any issues. 

That was until he made his way down a flight of stairs. This floor was bustling with demon activity when compared to the floor he’d just been on. Castiel was hiding behind the stairwell, staying low to the ground to avoid being seen. A few seconds passed without him being spotted, so he poked his head around. The hallway was empty. 

He began to stand, ready to continue on his way, but a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around. Castiel had been so focused on the path that lay ahead that he hadn’t paid attention to anything else.

Three demons stood before him, and the one who still hadn’t let go of him was Vadrach – he recognized him from earlier.

“Where are you going, angel?” he sneered.

When he didn’t answer another demon chimed in, “Yeah, where are you going?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Castiel said. He tried shrugging out of Vadrach’s grip, but the dark-haired demon held him fast. 

“Oh, I think it does. I’m sure Crowley wouldn’t like it if his little pet ran away.” At that Vadrach turned his eyes completely black, most likely as an intimidation tactic.

It was difficult to not rise to the taunt and Castiel had to take a deep breath to restrain himself. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight. Outnumbered and essentially in enemy territory, he’d be a goner if this got violent.

“Let go of me,” Castiel said.

Slowly, Vadrach receded his hand.

Castiel began to let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when Vadrach’s arm snapped back towards him, his hand balled into a fist, and struck him in the nose, the bone cracking. Not even a second later blood was gushing from his nostrils, coating his lips and chin. The force of the blow made him jerk back, and his eyes were watering. 

Instinct took over and in a second he had his angel blade out. A kick was aimed at him from the demon on Vadrach’s left and he slashed his blade in a vertical downward thrust, tearing through skin and flesh. He tried circling the blade lower to tear at the demon’s tendon near his ankle, but a hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. It was Vadrach. The demon he’d wounded fell back and onto the floor with a cry, blood already seeping out onto the floor.

The demon on Vadrach’s right attempted to grab Castiel’s other wrist, but he simply twisted his arm, making him let go. However, Vadrach still had a tight hold on him. He twisted Castiel around so that his back was to him and his arm was held at an odd angle behind his back. 

With hardly a though Castiel released his angel blade and deftly caught it in his other hand. He relaxed his right arm, tricking Vadrach into releasing him, and then he whirled around. 

His angel blade entered the demon beside Vadrach at the same time that he wrapped a hand around Castiel’s throat. The blade had reached deep, and the demon froze, a choked gasp leaving him as his eyes widened in pain. The hold he had around Castiel’s neck abruptly lessened, and he pulled his blade free from the body as the demon sparked out and dropped to the floor. 

An angry yell met his ears and he was bowled over, his angel blade falling from his hand as he tried to push at the body against him. His head whacked against the stone floor, and the sudden pain blinded him. The angel’s vision was lost for a few seconds, but in a fight a few seconds could mean the difference between life and death. 

Vadrach’s sneering face loomed over him and Castiel had the sudden fear that he was going to die.

A wordless shout left the demon that straddled him and then he began punching him. He punched him over and over again, the powerful blows coming so quickly that Castiel had no time to react, to fight back. The pain hadn’t set in yet. There were just the physical sensations of strong, steely pressure against his face. 

All the pain finally burst into his senses with Vadrach’s last punch. A bone in his cheek cracked in two places, and then there was agony. Sharp stabs of pain flowed out from his cheek, exacerbating the already damaged parts of his face. He could barely open his eyes, and blood was running from a cut on his brow into his left one. Blood covered his face, the warm fluid seeping from him as his injuries throbbed.

There was a scraping sound as Vadrach picked up Castiel’s angel blade. He opened his mouth to protest, but words didn’t want to come to him, so the only sounds that left him were pitiful groans.

Vadrach used the edge of the blade to run it along his jaw and Castiel shook with fear, his breath coming in quick gasps.

_This is it. I’m going to die._

“Don’t worry, Castiel,” Vadrach crooned. “I’m sure Crowley would hate it if you wound up dead, so you get to live. For now.”

At long last the demon got off of him, and then turned to his friend who was still on the floor, his hands grasping at his wounded leg.

“Are you gonna help me get him into a cell or not?”

The other demon nodded quickly, something akin to fear in his eyes, and then, with a pained moan, rose to his feet. That made blood run from the wound more quickly, the liquid dripping down the edge of his pant leg to pool into the puddle that was already on the floor.

“You’re such a baby,” Vadrach told him, and then he started lifting Castiel to his feet. The other demon helped. 

Castiel struggled, his movements weak. The fight had taken a lot out of him. Unbeknownst to him, as Vadrach and the other demon carried him away, a pool of blood was left on the floor from where his head had been.

Surprisingly, Castiel actually wished he could lose consciousness, if only for a little bit just to escape the searing and throbbing of the wounds he’d received. But he didn’t, and all he could make out from his one half-open eye was stone. Stone – he was really starting to hate it.

He was dragged unceremoniously back up the flight of stairs, his knees bumping against the hard surface of the steps. Then, he was taken to a room. With his eyesight hindered he didn’t know where he was, and he’d been too dizzy to try and make sense of any of the directions he’d been pulled in. A jangling of keys met his ears, there was a loud metallic creak, and then he was thrown forward, his body hitting the ground hard. Castiel didn’t move or cry out, not wanting to give his attackers the satisfaction. After some digging through his pockets his phone was confiscated, and then the creak sounded again, and this time it was followed by a resounding slam. Cruel laughter met his ears, which quieted as the demons left. 

Once he was all alone Castiel began to heal himself. It was nearly an agonizing experience setting the bones in his cheek and nose. He sat up, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from his eye so he could see.

Castiel was in a cell that was set off to the side in the throne room. The space was low and cramped, barely giving him room to move around. 

Vadrach’s actions suggested two things: either Crowley had left him orders to do this to Cas, or he’d acted completely on his own. Given the way Vadrach had failed to attach a title to Crowley’s name like all the demons did, he’d acted of his own accord. This was his way of undermining his authority.

What that meant for Cas was that he’d be stuck in that prison, with Crowley unable to help him lest he risk losing the throne. Castiel knew the King of Hell would do anything to stop that from happening, and if that meant keeping Cas locked up like this, he’d do it without batting an eyelash. Perhaps it wasn’t all so bad. If staying in here meant that Vadrach didn’t become king then he didn’t completely mind. It’d been a while since a demon had struck such fear in him. Compared to Vadrach, the Crowley of late was practically a teddy bear. He’d just have to wait this out.


	9. Terms and Conditions May Apply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets with Ivan Rhodes and discovers the man's true nature.

Gray clouds scudded across the sky, and the ground was damp from the earlier rainfall. The dip in temperature that Sam had noticed the day before was essentially gone. Something had changed, but he wasn’t sure what. 

It was easy to find the diner that Ivan wanted to meet at. It wasn’t yet 12:00, so Sam was the first to arrive. This diner had ditched the classical checkered floor pattern and it had settled for simple, white tiles. The walls were a pale blue and the booths and tables matched it, if only a few shades darker. It was a small place, but it looked well-kept and well-run. The lunch rush had yet to start so there were only two other people, a pair of women who seemed in their middle ages, and they sat at the counter up front. For privacy’s sake he still sat at a booth in the back. If Ivan had noticed something really odd he didn’t want their conversation to be overheard. 

A waiter dressed in black came up to him and placed a glass of water in front of him, spilling a few drops as he did so.

“Sorry,” the young man said. “First day on the job. I’m a little nervous.” He then hurriedly took a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled his name on a napkin.

Sam glanced at it and then gave him a friendly smile. “I bet you’re doing just fine, Keith.”

The young man smiled in return and seemed to relax a little. Then he listed off the specials and said he’d be back in a few minutes.

Before he could walk away Sam said, “I’ll just have coffee for now, thanks.”

“Coffee in the afternoon?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s that kinda day.”

“All right, just give me a few minutes to brew a fresh pot.”

With that Keith left and went through the door opposite them, which led to the kitchen. Sam settled for looking out the window as he waited for Ivan. From here he could actually see where Rachel Barnes had died. The area was no longer taped off seeing as the forensic investigators had thoroughly combed the place for evidence and there was most likely nothing more to be found. That’s how it appeared to the average person, at least. 

As he thought about this case he couldn’t help thinking about the bodies he’d found in the woods. With the amulet, maybe it had been possible for him to be the killer. The only issue with that idea was that he’d been with Dean when the stone bodies of the two hunters had been found, and he’d been in the bunker at the time of Rachel’s death.

 _Maybe the amulet makes it so I don’t need to be in proximity of my targets,_ he guessed.

That thought stopped him in his tracks. Maybe Dean was right. This did seem a bit ridiculous. But then how did he explain his night in the woods?

He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed when Ivan had entered the diner, so he jumped when the wiry man took a seat across from him.

“All good over there?” he asked him.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

Ivan waved his hand in a gesture to say it was no big deal. He then glanced around, peering suspiciously at the other people in the diner. His mouth opened as if he’d been about to say something, but he quickly closed it when he noticed Keith coming in their direction with a mug and a pot of coffee. 

He poured Sam his cup of coffee and then said he’d be right back with another glass of water. After his return he then asked Ivan if he could get him anything. 

The man picked up the paper menu that lay on the table in front of him. He seemed unsure, but not the indecisive kind of unsure. This look held unfamiliarity and curiosity. Then, to Sam and Keith’s surprise Ivan ordered a salad, a burger, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, two orders of fries (one with spices and one without), and three different kinds of soda.

As he had ordered Sam and Keith just kept glancing at each other as if to say, _Is this guy serious?_

Ivan finally lowered the menu and then looked from Sam to the waiter. Rather than explaining himself he just said, “That will be all.”

Keith scribbled his order down in a hurry, checked if Sam wanted anything besides coffee, and then he was off into the kitchen again, his eyebrows raised in a perplexed look.

Sam then turned back to Ivan, and he ran his eyes up and down his thin frame. “You sure you can eat all that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t eaten in a few centuries.”

Sam had been about to take a sip of his coffee, but he froze, the mug half-raised to his lips.

“You what?”

Ivan glanced around in that same cautious way again and then scooted closer to the edge of the booth, lowering his head towards Sam conspiratorially.

“I haven’t been on this earth in quite some time,” he said in a near-whisper.

Given what Sam did for a living he was more inclined to believe Ivan, but the man just blurting it out like that was rather more straightforward than he’d expect. 

“So what are you?”

Ivan shrugged. “Not really sure.”

Sam stared at him as he tried to interpret his body language and facial expressions for the particular tells of someone who was lying. He couldn’t find anything, but then again, if Ivan had existed for as long as he claimed then it was possible he’d broken all those subconscious habits.

Sam looked up when there was the _ding_ of the door being opened. A couple entered and Sam watched them until they took a seat on the other side of the diner. Then, he too scooted closer.

“Why are you here?”

Impatience sparked in Sam as Ivan calmly lifted his glass of water to his lips and took a long drink. He sighed in satisfaction once he put the glass down, seeming to be taking his sweet time about this.

Then, he looked Sam dead in the eyes and said, “I’m here to serve you.”

Sam just blinked at him, not sure he’d heard him correctly. What this man was saying was crazy! Granted, Sam dealt with crazy on a daily basis, but there didn’t seem to be an explanation for this.

Finally, he was able to get a question out; it was just one word but still better than nothing, “What?”

Ivan just answered in a matter of fact tone, “So two days ago you found a gem – the energy in it glows blue – and then that very night I compelled you to touch it.”

Usually he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but it was difficult to not do that here. So if all of the events of the past two days were connected then that meant that Ivan was responsible, and he’d dragged Sam into this without his consent.

“What the hell, Ivan?” he hissed. 

“What?”

“You just walk in here, say that I’m in control of you? And this is after you’ve been killing people. Tell me why I shouldn’t take you out here and now.”

Ivan once again took an aggravatingly long sip of his water. Then he answered, “You could try to kill me, I suppose, but it won’t work. Nothing does.”

Then things clicked into place. Deathless One. Ivan was the Deathless One. 

_Guess Dean was right about that meaning immortal._

Sam was too perplexed and intrigued to feel afraid of the man across from him. Besides, he’d claimed that he was there to serve him, so surely he couldn’t do him any harm. Not to him at least. Sam eyed the other people in the restaurant. Somehow he’d have to get Ivan out of there without making a fuss.

“Ivan, maybe we should take this somewhere more private. This isn’t stuff for everyday people to hear.”

“You’re right, but…” He looked forlornly in the direction of the kitchen. “I just ordered all that food and I don’t even really know what it is. I want to try it.”

Sam released a deep rumbling growl from his chest, showing that he wasn’t taking any of that crap.

“Ivan.” At the sound of his name he turned back to him. “I can’t know that you won’t harm these people. So if you want to talk, we’ll talk, but on my terms.”

He leaned back in his chair and dramatically hissed in a breath. “Sorry, Sam, but you don’t have the gem with you right now, and you don’t know how it works, so until you get that figured out I’m as free as bird.”

“Okay, then how about this? If you don’t cooperate with me I’ll take you back to my _dungeon_ and show you just how much fun you can have with immortality. How does that sound?” 

Ivan’s eyes widened, and he visibly stiffened. 

“You wouldn’t.”

Without blinking Sam answered, his tone unwavering, “Try me.”

Second after second passed, and then Ivan finally let out a breath. “I thought you were just a hunter, but you, you’re serious about that. I must say, this is quite a twist.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam agreed, referring to their incredibly odd conversation.

“I’d very much like to remain intact, thank you very much.”

Sam started sliding out of the booth. “Then let’s go.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Ivan said, holding out a hand. “You said on your terms. Your first concern was that I would hurt these people. Before coming here I already knew I wasn’t going to hurt them, so you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Why should I?”

To his surprise, Ivan reached out and grabbed his hands, his eyes getting very big and sincere. This was now making him pretty uncomfortable.

“You found me Sam, you raised me from my slumber. It is only right that I serve you. I _want_ to serve you.”

Sam pulled is hand back, and then replied, “I don’t want a servant-“

“Slave, actually.”

“-slave, whatever. So can I just command you to go back to sleep?”

Ivan shook his head, and Sam found himself pinching at the bridge of his nose. This was absolutely crazy. Ivan – whatever the hell he was – was Sam’s to command. And he’d killed. After talking with him for a bit Sam could easily suspect why he’d done so. He’d wanted to get Sam’s attention, and he certainly had.

Then, a slight weight over his heart lightened.

_That means I didn’t kill those people!_

He was relieved that he hadn’t been responsible, but then, in a way, wasn’t he? And just like that the weight returned.

“Sam, are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded instantly without a thought. Then he backtracked and corrected himself, lowering his hand to look at Ivan. “No, actually, I’m not. You _killed_ people, Ivan. You killed them just to get my attention. Couldn’t you have done _anything_ else?”

The odd, wiry man shrugged. “I couldn’t find you, so…”

“So you thought a killing spree would be a good idea?”

“Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

Sam was taken aback, and he just stared. “No!” he intoned. “You are five kinds of crazy, and I don’t want _anything_ you have to offer me.”

“I could give you power.”

“I don’t want power.”

Ivan folded his hands in front of him, looking down at the table. “This does put us in a rather awkward situation.”

“Awkward?”

“Yes, Sam. Either you learn to control me, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or I show you just how powerful I am. I’m prepared to take even more lives. Their deaths will be on you. So either you rein me in, or I have a bit of fun. Are you prepared to condemn yourself to damnation?”

Sam gave a hollow laugh. “Pretty sure that’s already happened.”

Ivan leaned forward. “You _are_ intriguing, Sam.”

He looked away from him. The way Ivan had held his hand earlier, paired with this entire conversation was making him feel much more than just uncomfortable. It was unsettling, unnerving.  
“Those are my terms. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide.”

Sam stood up, guessing that was his cue to leave. He took a step away from the table, but then a question occurred to him, and he turned back. “Wait, Ivan, what is that gem exactly? Why does it give me the power to control you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s my soul.”

Now Sam just stood there, perplexed. He’d experienced many different things happening to his soul, but he’d had no idea that being in possession of someone’s could give one the ability to control them. A shudder ran through him. Had Lucifer had a reach outside the Cage…

Ivan actually stopped that train of thought. “Time’s a ticking.” And then he used his tongue to make four clicking noises, imitating the sound of a clock. 

Sam huffed in anger as he grabbed his wallet, fished out a five dollar bill, and dropped it onto the table. He walked past Keith on his way out, who was bringing some of Ivan’s order to the table.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“No.”

With that he left, wanting to leave that diner and that conversation far behind him. 

 

After calling Dean and telling him he wouldn’t be back that night Sam checked into a motel. He didn’t want to go back to the bunker. Dean would pester him. He already was pestering him with text messages in caps lock pleading with him to talk to him. But Sam wasn’t ready for that. He had to sort out everything first.

Like so many things in his life this terrible thing had been thrust upon him by an outside party, by someone who didn’t care about what he wanted. Such things had happened so much in his life. Too much. That was why he avoided relationships. The idea of being vulnerable like that, giving someone sufficient means to take advantage of him… it was frightening. 

Though Ivan’s goal was for _Sam_ to control him, it wouldn’t be of his volition. Sam knew, deep down, that he couldn’t let more people die. He didn’t want to be responsible for more suffering, for more ruin.

_I have to do this._

For now, Sam wasn’t going to call Ivan. Rather, he just lay on the lumpy mattress in the motel room, and he cried.


	10. Power Permutation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds Castiel locked up. Sam lets Ivan know of his decision, and Dean convinces Sam to come back to the bunker.

One hour and thirty-seven minutes. That’s how long Castiel was locked in the cell before he recognized the sounds of Crowley’s footsteps as he entered the throne room. Castiel said nothing yet, wanting to be sure they were alone before he spoke.

The doors closed without any other demons entering; it was just the two of them.

“Crowley,” he called. 

From his cell Castiel could see the King of Hell’s legs turn around in a circle as he looked around for him. 

“Castiel? Where are you? Have you gone invisible on me?”

“Crowley, I’m in here.”

The demon was able to follow his voice and he crouched down, peering through the metal bars at Cas. 

“What the blazes are you doing in there?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like it was my choice. It was Vadrach.”

Crowley looked away and frowned. “I’m an idiot!” he hissed at himself. “An absolute _idiot_.” Following that was a spew of curses and self-deprecating comments, and when they ended he said to Cas, “You know I can’t get you out of there then. Vadrach isn’t the only one who dislikes your presence here. If I free you I’ll have an uprising on my hands.”

“I know.”

Just then, the doors to the throne room opened and Crowley hurried to his feet and straightened his black coat. 

Castiel instantly recognized the voice that spoke next. “Ah, sire, you’ve returned.”

“Yes. I see you’ve uh… taken care of our little issue with Castiel for me. How… thoughtful.”

Vadrach stepped closer, and Castiel was able see his legs, more slender than Crowley’s, standing very close to the current king. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but no less poisonous, “I expressed mine and others’ grievances about the angel, and you refused to act, so I took matters into my own hands. You are our _king_. It is your duty to make the best decisions for Hell, which is something you no longer seem capable of. You free that angel over there, and I’ll tell everyone who really locked him up. Wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

The King of Hell took in a breath, and agreed, “Let’s keep this quiet. Thank you for… taking action. I’ll remember that.”

Though he couldn’t see the upper half of their bodies because of the low-ceilinged cell he was in, Castiel knew the two demons were staring at each other. Long seconds passed, perhaps even a minute, and all the while the tension in the room kept thickening until Castiel surely thought someone was going to burst. Then, Vadrach turned and left.

Crowley let out a breath and then walked to his throne, sinking down into in defeat. 

“What am I going to do, Castiel?” he asked wearily.

“You’re asking me?” he questioned, gripping the bars of his cell.” It’s your fault I’m in here. You brought me here. You left me all alone with your vile subjects.”

“No, you _agreed_ to come here. This is just as much your fault as it is mine.”

Castiel’s energy waned as the truth hit him, and he leaned back, letting go of the bars.

_How could I be this stupid?_ Castiel asked himself. _I never learn, do I? I_ always _get myself into trouble._

“I suppose it’s also Vadrach’s fault,” Crowley eventually said. “You know, he _is_ the one who decided to move against me.”

“So do something about it,” Cas spat.

“I can’t. I kill him, my demons will want to know why, and they’ll figure it out. There are always all sorts of rumors running around Hell. I can’t remove him from his position as my adviser. He’s well liked, and there’s no evidence that he’s insufficient at his job. And then, I can’t free you because then I’ll _definitely_ lose the throne. We just have to wait this out.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not stuck in a cell.”

“That, Castiel, is only a matter of time.”

 

At some point Sam had fallen asleep; his body was most likely still exhausted from the night he’d spent in the woods. A ringing sound impinging on his subconscious roused him from his sleep, and he blinked groggily at the warm glow of the lamp he’d accidently left on. The ringing continued, and the buzz from the vibration ran through the wooden nightstand.

_It’s definitely Dean,_ he thought. _It has to be._

A groan left him and he reached out his arm to grab his phone. After some fumbling he answered the call.

“Thank god. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours.”

Sam hadn’t checked the time so he couldn’t be sure if his brother was just being dramatic or not. But he knew that Dean had tried to get in touch with him before.

“I know,” Sam answered tonelessly. 

“What the hell, man? You say you’re not coming back to the bunker till tomorrow, and you don’t tell me why? Is it the case?”

“There _is_ no case. _You_ don’t even have a case. It’s all the same damn thing.”

“You know what it is?”

Sam sighed, thinking back to his conversation with Ivan. “Not really, but don’t worry, Dean. It’s going to stop. I’m going to stop it.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam was quiet. He wasn’t comfortable telling Dean what he was being forced to do. What made him so angry was that none of this was essentially his fault. It was Ivan’s. He’d forced Sam to touch the amulet, which was what had awakened him. He’d killed to draw him out. And now he was going to kill more people unless he decided to become his master. Sam didn’t want something evil like that under his control. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with that power.

“I’ll explain later,” he finally said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will you?” Dean asked, his voice harsh with worry.

“Yes. I promise… This is something I have to do on my own.”

After a long moment in which Dean was most likely thinking about what Sam could mean he asked quietly, “Why?”

“Not really in the mood for talking about it.”

“Come on, Sam, you’re the one who’s always saying we should be open with each other, that we should talk about our feelings, or some hippie crap like that. And now you decide that you’ve changed your mind on all that?”

“I haven’t.”

“Then talk.”

“Dean-“

“Sam, _please_ , I’m your brother,” he told him, voice thick with desperation and longing to understand. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“No. I can’t.”

Before Dean could respond Sam hung up and threw the phone down on his bed. He hated shutting Dean out like that, but he had to. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, how frightened he was, how caged he felt. And, if Sam was being honest, he wasn’t just afraid of Ivan, or the way he’d used him. He was afraid of the power that was apparently at his fingertips.

Power wasn’t something he was good with. The last time he’d been incredibly powerful he’d been drinking demon blood. He’d nearly turned himself into a monster. But… that hadn’t necessarily been his choice either. 

All his life Sam had been forced into situations, and used. And now, the vicious cycle was continuing. The power to make his own choices was being taken from him _yet again_ , and in return he’d gain the power to kill, to have an advantage over his enemies. But Sam knew how seductive such power was, and he was being forced right towards it, forced to open himself up to it, to let it corrupt him.

Sam released a fearful, enraged shout, and grabbed at the nearest thing he could throw; the lamp. There were sparks as the plug was ripped free of the wall, and the light blew out in a golden flash. The lamp soared through the air, landing with a crash on the far side of the room where it shattered into broken shards of glass. 

Sam put his head in his hands, fighting back tears that threatened to spill free. 

A half hour passed, and all the while he’d been fighting to accept his situation. He had to accept it. He was trapped; every option would lead down a dark road, it was just a matter of which one. And Sam already knew which one. He couldn’t let more people die. There was only one choice, one road, one path. And it was only a matter of time before the consequences would catch up with him, before he became something he despised.

Taking a deep breath, he eventually picked up his phone and called Ivan.

“Sam,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Have you decided?”

“I have,” he answered, his voice gruff from the emotions he was still battling with. 

“Oh?”

“The answer is yes. I’ll be your master.”

 

Once Sam had hung up on him Dean just found himself staring at his phone in shock. What the hell had just happened? What was going on with his brother?

Now incredibly worried Dean took out his laptop to track the GPS in Sam’s phone. Thankfully, he’d neglected to turn it off. That meant that whatever was going on really had Sam in a rough place. Usually his brother paid great attention to detail.

Dean knew that he’d seen some shit, and that Sam had as well. Hell, that was an understatement. They’d been through some of the worst things the universe could throw at them, but there was always a disconnect at a certain point, where something had happened to his brother that Dean couldn’t understand. And he was worried that something like that was happening now.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know the exact situation. What mattered was that his brother was alone and hurting. So Dean drove out to his location as quickly as he could.

The sun was just beginning to set as he got out of the car, painting the sky in bloody hues. He went inside the motel to the front desk, asking about Sam. The behind the counter gave him the number and he hurried off. When he got to Sam’s room he knocked loudly.

“Sam, it’s me!”

Silence.

“Sam?”

He heard some shuffling footsteps and then the door opened, revealing his brother’s tall frame backlit by the brighter lights of the room.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Sam stepped aside and held the door wider as he said, “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, so you might as well.”

Dean walked into the room and his brother closed the door behind him. He noticed that the broken pieces of a lamp were strewn about the floor near the bathroom, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why are you here, Dean?” Sam asked. “I told you that I was going to be back by tomorrow. You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry?” Dean asked. “Because I think I do. I’m not blind, man. I know that there’s something going on with you. I don’t know what it is; I don’t even _need_ to know what it is. All I’m seeing right now is that my brother is hurting, and he needs me.”

Sam turned away from him, and sat down on the single bed in the room. “I don’t need you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that so he settled for joining Sam on the bed. 

After some thought he told him, “You used to be able to tell me anything. Even the most embarrassing crap. Do you remember that time you came home from school with a black eye and I was so sure some jerk had decided to use you as a punching bag?”

Sam breathed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“And you held your head high and you told me that you actually tripped over your shoelaces and whacked into the water fountain.”

“Dad didn’t wanna hear it,” Sam added. “He kept telling me that he was trying to raise a hunter, not a boy who’d just as soon fall and accidently shoot himself in the face.”

“You knew Dad was gonna act like that,” Dean said, “but you told the truth. You told _me_ the truth. Sure I make fun of you sometimes, Sam, but you know that I can be a dick, and you know that I don’t mean any of that crap.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said softly. “It’s not that, Dean.”

“Then what is it?”

His brother’s shoulders lifted as he filled his lungs with air, bracing himself, and then he looked at him. His eyes held unshed tears.

“There are things that I’ve been through, things that you wouldn’t understand. Things that… that I’m not ready to talk about. I’m actually not sure if I ever will be. And now, there’s something going on that I can’t do anything about. I’m trapped in a corner, I’m locked up… in a cage.” A sob left him and he wiped a few tears from his face. He straightened and faced forward. “I’m helpless, Dean. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Then let me help you.”

“You can’t. This is my battle, not yours. And besides…” Sam paused, and then tilted his head towards him, their eyes meeting. “It’s already too late.”

Frustration filled him. His brother wasn’t making any sense. He couldn’t piece together what he’d done, what he was feeling, any of it. He wanted a definitive problem to fix, one step at a time, but Sam was handing him half-written clues. 

“Sammy, please,” Dean pleaded, desperate tears welling up in his eyes. “I need to know how I can help you. I _have_ to help you.”

Sam shook his head, and that was when a tear fell, slowly sliding its way down his cheek.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just give me time,” his brother answered. “I need to come to grips with this. Then… then you’re going to have to trust that I’m doing what I have to.”

That struck an odd chord with Dean. In fact, his word choice reminded him all too much of when he’d been drinking demon blood. Was something like that happening again? Had he gotten back to his addiction? 

Something told him that that wasn’t it. But this still felt so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. 

Hesitantly, Dean asked the question now burning at the forefront of his mind, “H-have you hurt anyone?”

The way Sam easily shook his head made Dean let out a small sigh of relief. 

“But I might later,” he added. “You have to promise me, Dean, that you’ll keep an eye on me, okay?”

Dean nodded vigorously. “Yeah, Sammy, I will.” He then felt it was safe to clasp a hand to his brother’s shoulder, and he gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I always will.”

They sat in silence for some moments, and in that time Dean dug around in his brain, searching for anything that might potentially be going on with Sam. One thought crossed his mind, but it didn’t seem entirely relevant or related, and… and he didn’t want to think that his brother had been in a situation like that; helpless and unable to fight against someone taking advantage of him. It literally made an ache form in his chest, and he felt sick to his stomach. He shrugged it off. He’d just wait until Sam opened up to him. 

Dean stood, grabbing Sam’s arm, and he too got off the bed. 

“Let’s go home, Sam.”


	11. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam treads even further down the path he's been forced on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep coming out with chapters so quickly (not even sure how I'm doing it), but don't feel obligated to read my story in a hurry. Enjoy it at your own pace.

The sun was still dipping below the horizon when Sam and Dean left the motel. Sam had left some extra cash without any explanation for the woman at the front desk. He was thankful that Dean didn’t mention anything. Physically lashing out wasn’t something Sam tended to do, so he was embarrassed about the small amount of damage he’d caused.

Guilt was weighing on him. He knew his brother did want to understand, but Sam wasn’t sure if he could. But mostly, he was scared that his brother would look at him differently, treat him differently. That’d make things so much more difficult for him. So he stayed quiet.

Eventually he’d have to explain what he knew about the amulet and the Deathless One, but that could wait. Sam wanted to make sense of it first. 

He was broken from his reverie when Dean asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Sam answered, surprising even himself.

“We’re gonna stop somewhere, and I’m gonna make sure you get yourself a nice, big, healthy salad. How does that sound?”

Sam nodded. He hadn’t taken note of his hunger before, but at the prospect of food his stomach growled, almost as if it were angry about its neglect. Truthfully, Sam hadn’t even realized he’d done that. He’d been so wrapped up in his current situation that taking care of himself had been forgotten.

They stopped at a little café for dinner, actually taking the time to get a table and eat there. Dean had surprisingly dealt with the lack of burgers and alcohol without a complaint and had ordered himself a sandwich and some soda.

The atmosphere was relaxing. It wasn’t noisy and cramped like some bar or diner during a dinner rush, and the tables were set apart more so than usual at restaurants, giving an air of privacy. There were plenty of customers, but it looked to be people just relaxing after a long day. Sam also noticed there were a lot of college students taking advantage of the free wi-fi to get some studying done. 

Sam dug into his food with gusto, actually taking the time to enjoy all the different flavors in the elaborate salad he’d ordered. Meals were often a grab n’ go affair for them, so this was nice. It allowed him to take a step back and look at things with more clarity. Not to say that his distress before had been him overreacting, but being reminded of the normal things that existed in life helped calm him.

“Enjoying your salad?” Dean asked after swallowing a bite of his sandwich.

Sam still had food in his mouth, so he gave a cheerful, “Mm hm.”

Dean took a drink from his soda and looked around. “You know, this place ain’t that bad. Is this where you go on those nights you decide to go out without me?”

After the harrowing day he’d had Sam’s instant thought was that Dean was trying to make him feel guilty over something stupid. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but his brother spoke first, “I’m not picking on you or anything. I know sometimes you need your space.”

“Oh, then um… yeah, I come here sometimes.”

“You’ve been holdin’ out on me, man.”

Sam scrunched up his face in confusion. “I have? I thought you would hate this sort of place.”

His older brother shrugged. “It’s not so bad. High quality food, free wi-fi, a nice place to get away from our crazy lives for a bit, and college girls.”

Sam shook his head and rolled is eyes. “Dude, don’t be creepy.”

Dean had been staring at this one girl, but then he turned back to Sam. “Yeah, you’re right. But seriously, this is kinda nice. I mean, totally not my scene, but I see why you like it.”

Sam just smiled, knowing his brother was only saying that to try and keep up the reputation he thought he had. He let him get away with it and continued eating.

They talked about little things, average things, having had enough of the heavy stuff for a while. But sometime later during their meal, Dean said, “Look, I know there are things you don’t wanna tell me yet, and that’s fine, but I have to ask, is the case I really started taken care of? I’m just making sure, you know, I don’t want any more people getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve definitely taken care of it.”

Dean’s gaze stayed on him, most likely trying to determine if he was being truthful. When he decided that he was he said, “Okay, so I guess I gotta find myself some other work.”

Sam shrugged. 

“Don’t just shrug. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m just thinking that maybe it’d be best for you to keep a clear schedule. What I’m getting into here is gonna turn sideways eventually. I might need you.”

Dean frowned, and Sam hated not telling him the whole story. But he couldn’t. Not yet. 

“You know, you’re making me real curious about all this.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Like, if you know it’s gonna turn sideways then why are you doing it?”

Sam put his fork down, and then took a drink of the sparkling water he’d ordered, his mouth having suddenly gone very dry. 

“Look, you know that I try to do what’s best for people.” Dean nodded. “And that’s what I’m doing now. I…” This next part was difficult to admit, but he owed it to Dean to explain some of this to him. “I didn’t have a choice, really. I made a decision that’ll have consequences later on, but I did it to keep people safe. There would’ve been a lot more dead bodies, and eventually, I would’ve come to the same decision.”

Dean’s face was lined with worry as he listened. He looked away. “Man, there are so many questions I wanna ask you, but I’m gonna trust you. Which, I’ll admit, is harder than I want it to be. But if you think you did the right thing, I’ll stand by you.”

“Thanks, Dean. T-that means a lot.”

Not sure what else to say they went back to eating in silence. Soon they finished up and then they were on their way to the bunker. 

Sam went to his room and started thinking about whether or not he should call Ivan. He wanted to get started right away with learning more about what power he’d be wielding, and how to do so. Part of him was still worried that Ivan would break their deal. If Sam didn’t learn to control him he’d certainly have the means to. He wasn’t sure about the motive. Maybe he was just used to being someone’s slave? He shuddered. The idea of being happy at the prospect of being owned was just… _wrong_. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, especially after all the torture he’d experienced.

A shudder ran through him. To distract himself from those disturbing thoughts he set about getting ready for bed. It was still early, but maybe he’d take some time for himself, watch _Game of Thrones_ or something. 

His phone buzzed, and to his surprise he had a text from Dean. _**R u sure I can’t work any cases? I’m already bored and it’s not even 2morrow yet.**_

Sam sat on his bed, and grabbed his phone, sending Dean a reply. _**Y r u even texting me? You’re RIGHT DOWN THE HALL.**_

A few seconds later… _**Then why’d you text me back?**_

Sam sighed and responded, _**Idk. Just start a case if you’re gonna be this annoying about it.**_

_**U sure?** _

_**No.** _

And that was the end of that he supposed since Dean didn’t seem intent on replying anytime soon. Sam went to his desk, and opened the drawer he’d been keeping the amulet in. He was confused when it wasn’t there. 

_Right. I took it off earlier._

He shot Dean a text, not quite wanting to get confrontational about this just yet. _**Where’s the amulet?**_

The next reply came rather quickly. _**Y do u want it?**_

Sam sat there for a bit. Maybe he should just go in Dean’s room and talk with him. Having what might very well be an argument over text would be ridiculous. Besides, it seemed like he was going to have to go in there and take the amulet from him. 

So he placed his phone down, and then made his way to Dean’s room. The door was open, and his brother was busy texting another response.

“Oh good, you’re here,” he said when he noticed Sam. “That makes things easier.”

He put his phone aside, and then looked up at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

Sam crossed his arms as he thought about what to say. 

He couldn’t come up with anything so he just said, “I need it for something.”

“For what?”

“Research.”

“Nope. Not gonna happen.”

Sam ran a hand over his jaw, turning away. He’d expected this all right.

“What can I say, man? It’s a dangerous artifact. I don’t want you messing with it.”

“It’s not… dangerous,” Sam admitted.

“And you know this how?”

Sam turned back to Dean. “It started all the stuff that’s been happening the past couple of days, okay? I don’t know everything yet, but I will. I’ll explain it to you then.”

Dean stared, his eyebrows raised. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this information, but maybe you shouldn’t trust it. You heard what Rowena said.”

“Yeah, but Rowena even admitted that she couldn’t make sense of it.”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head down, deep in thought. After a while he asked, “Is this something to do with that person you met with for your case?”

“Yes.”

“Can you at least give me the name of the person you’ve been talking to?”

“Ivan. At least, that’s what he wants to be called. Look, I don’t know what he is, but he’s connected to the amulet, okay? I’m just…” Sam trailed off. A lie wanted to leave his lips, but he knew that would make things worse in the long run.

“Just what?” Dean asked once he realized Sam wasn’t keen on answering.

He shook his head. “All this, this mess, it’s all one thing, okay? Ivan, the amulet, the dead bodies, my night in the woods, hell, probably even the weird temperature fluctuation yesterday. And it started when I touched the amulet. I’m just doing my best to keep as many people from getting hurt as possible.” Dean didn’t say anything, just nodded once, so Sam went on, “So, I’m gonna need the amulet, Dean.”

His brother pursed his lips in the way he did when someone told him something he didn’t like. 

“You said you’d stand by me,” Sam went on. “Don’t already go breaking that promise.”

A long, drawn out sigh left his brother, and then he stood. “Come on. I hid it in the storage room with the other artifacts after you left.” As they walked he admitted, “I wasn’t comfortable with you having it. And, let’s just get this one thing straight, I’m still not.”

“Then why are you letting me have it?”

Dean shrugged. “We’ve both done our fair share of crap, and we’ve hurt each other, and I know I’ve hurt you. I’m trying, just this once, to go with you on this.” They stopped outside the storage room, and Dean slipped inside to grab the amulet. It was in another pouch. He was about to give it to Sam, but he pulled his hand back. There was a sudden intensity in his voice as he spoke, and a fire burned in his eyes. “When things do turn sideways like you say they will, if I find out it was your fault, you’re gonna have hell to pay.”

Sam’s hand drifted closer to the amulet, but now he paused. Was he ready for this? Would he be able to pay the consequences of this decision?

Ultimately, he couldn’t possibly fathom what the consequences would be, how momentous this one choice could become. A shiver of fear ran through him, and he felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, with someone telling him to jump off even though he couldn’t see the bottom. 

A pit formed in his stomach when he realized something about his situation. He wasn’t being told to jump in.

He’d already been pushed. 

So he did the only thing he could do. Sam took the amulet, and hoped that when he reached the bottom of this hole he’d still be left alive to climb out.


	12. Unknown Factors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Crowley come up with a plan, and Sam starts learning about what it means to be Ivan's master.

“Crowley, please,” Castiel said, his face nearly pressing up against the bars. He felt pathetic pleading with him like this, but something had to be done. “Sam and Dean are expecting me. They’re going to know something’s wrong when I don’t show up. Can’t you just call them and tell them?”

From the direction of the throne he heard Crowley’s voice, “Really, Castiel? You want me to tell them that I have you as my prisoner? What good would that do me? They’re hunters, they’re your friends, they find out that the King of Hell has you locked up, I’m as good as dead.”

Castiel leaned his head back against the stone wall and suppressed a groan. Crowley was right. Besides, he was resourceful. Killing him wouldn’t be helpful. Besides, that’d just give Vadrach the opportunity to swoop in and take the throne, and Castiel much preferred the king Hell had now.

“Well we have to do something.”

There was silence as both angel and demon thought of a way out of their plight. Castiel’s grace was too damaged from The Fall to do anything about the cell he found himself in, and Crowley was in no position to release him. But later that day, when he didn’t show up, Sam and Dean would try to call him, and Vadrach had taken his phone. He wondered if the demon would actually pick up the call. He hoped not. He didn’t need his only friends to come rushing to his aid only to be me met with a formidable force of demons. 

“Maybe I could call my mother,” Crowley suggested.

“I thought you hate her.”

“Oh I do. I’d rather be scalped than tell that bitch I love her, but maybe she could help.”

“How?”

Crowley got up from the throne and walked to Castiel’s cell, crouching down so he could get on his level. “Have you ever considered faking your own death?”

“That’s ridiculous,” the angel scoffed. “I’ve died and been brought back before. No one is going to believe it.”

“Maybe not, but if I make a public announcement and actually show your dead body then they don’t have to believe me. Going against me would be treason, and Vadrach, the only one who actually wants to, wouldn’t have any proof of foul play.”

Castiel considered the idea. It was actually a rather clever one. Fake his death, and then he could be free, and Crowley would still have the throne. And then he’d have the means to deal with Vadrach because the other demon wouldn’t be holding anything over him.

“Can she do it?” Castiel asked. 

“Only one way to find out.”

Crowley left the room, and Castiel could only wait. He wished that he could at least hear the conversation, but he knew that the less he knew the better. If Vadrach caught wind of this plan Castiel wouldn’t have anything to tell him.

The doors to the throne room opened some minutes after Crowley left, but quietly and slowly in a rather discreet manner. There was a soft patter of footsteps and someone slipped inside, closing the doors behind them. Castiel peered out, tilting his head to try and get a view of who was there. 

The demon walked closer, and then the lower half of their body came into Castiel’s view. They crouched down in front of him, and it was none other than Vadrach; his long and thin features making him look as sly as ever.

“Where’s Crowley?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

Vadrach studied him, and Castiel found his dark-eyed gaze rather chilling. 

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he responded. “Do you really think that Crowley would be stupid enough to tell me what he gets up to?”

Vadrach shrugged. “He’s done a great number of stupid things before.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where he is, so just go.”

The demon leaned in closer to the bars before he next spoke, “See, I think you do, _and_ I think you know exactly what he’s planning.”

“Why would he be planning something?”

“He’s Crowley. He always is.” Castiel didn’t say anything. To confirm or deny that would give Vadrach something to use. “Not in the talking mood, huh?” he observed. “I could go grab that angel blade of yours and then I’m sure you’d be more than willing to tell me what I want to know.”

Castiel leaned closer to the bars, imbuing strength and power into his voice. “You could slice into me a million times and I’d still never tell you a single word.”

“Hm… Loyalty. A bit odd showing loyalty for him isn’t it? I mean, he’s a demon, you’re an angel. What do you gain?”

“If it keeps you from the throne I have everything to gain.”

It was true. Hell having another ruler would be such a mess for Heaven to deal with. They knew how Crowley worked, so if he caused too much trouble they could deal with it. But Vadrach? His reign could bring chaos to Heaven, Hell, and Earth alike. There was no knowing what his motives were, what he was planning, who he felt allegiance towards. It’d be particularly bad if he harbored loyalty for Lucifer. Everyone knew Crowley hated that particular archangel, and Crowley kept him locked up, but with Vadrach, he could set him free, restart the apocalypse. The demon before him could do a number of terrible things.

“Someone doesn’t like me,” Vadrach noted.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you beat someone and throw them in a cell.”

To Castiel’s surprise Vadrach started laughing and clapped his hands together in delight. He just waited until the outburst died down, knowing the demon would say something.

“You’ve got more of a spark in you than I’d expect from an angel. You’re pretty entertaining. After I take the throne I might keep you alive so you can be my pet.”

Castiel growled at him threateningly, and Vadrach started laughing again, dancing away from the bars.

Just then, in walked Crowley.

“Ah, Vadrach,” he greeted, seeming completely unfazed by the situation that was unfolding. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

The other demon whirled towards the king in confusion, and Castiel couldn’t help but smirk, knowing his tormenter had been caught off guard.

“I am?” he asked.

“Yes. I have a job for you,” Crowley informed him cheerfully. “I want you to talk to Sanren, get details from him about Cethra’s death, and then give it to me in a report. I want to know what we’re up against.”

“Is that really necessary?”

Crowley stepped up to him. “It is. I want to know what’s going on. This could be a very real threat.”

“Cethra was just one demon.”

“So are you,” Crowley told him. “So what makes you think you’re special enough to defy my orders?” The other demon had no answer, so Crowley continued, “Talk to Sanren. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you everything.”

Vadrach’s voice was simmering with barely restrained anger when he said, “Yes, _sire_.” The way the last word had been spat past his lips made it seems like an insult. No doubt satisfied with himself, he left without saying another word.

“You handled that well,” Castiel commented after the doors slammed shut.

Crowley went over to him again, getting on his level so he could talk to him. “I needed to get him out of the way. Rowena thinks that she could make something work, but it’s going to take some time. You just gotta hang in there, Feathers.”

“We still have the issue of Sam and Dean,” Castiel reminded him.

“I’ll just leave them hanging for now,” Crowley said. “Without any information to go off of they’ll be harmless.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I’ll keep tabs on them. From a distance. The last thing I need is Moose and Squirrel lashing out at me.”

A thought came to Castiel. It was rather unimportant when compared to everything that was going on, but he found himself asking, “Why do you call them that?”

“I give all my friends nicknames,” Crowley answered simply.

He went to his throne and sat, and Castiel turned away from him, trying to think over what he’d said. Was it true? Was he really Crowley’s friend? That was an odd thing to think about, but he realized, that after Crowley got him out of there, it’d be wrong to not help him. So that’s what he was going to do. He, an angel, was going to help the King of Hell.

 

Sam met up with Ivan outside the bunker, having figured out how to use the amulet to guide him there. It was morning, giving him plenty of time to work with Ivan before Castiel arrived. He hadn’t told Dean what he was up to, and he could feel his brother’s frustration about not knowing what was going on, but there hadn’t been any argument. 

Sam had the amulet in his jacket pocket, figuring he’d need it for this. But for now, they were just talking. The hunter was leaning back against a tree, his arms crossed, as he let Ivan explain the powers he had.

“As you already know I can turn people to stone.”

“What else?”

“I have control over ice and temperatures. Not warm temperatures though. The cold is something of a friend to me.”

Sam just gave him a funny look for his dramatic word choice. “So that dip in temperature the other day, that was you?”

He nodded. “In my true form I cannot hold back all my power. But like this,” – he held out his hands, looking them over – “I can.”

“Wait, your true form?”

He looked up at him. “Yes. I can shapeshift.”

“That’s quite a résumé you got there,” Sam commented. “So why this form?” he asked.

Ivan answered simply. “It was the only way I could get you to talk to me. My true form is quite terrifying.”

“Show me,” Sam demanded.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ivan said, rubbing at the back of his head. “You see, you still haven’t figured out what you’re doing. If I’m in my true form and you screw up a command, there could be consequences.”

Sam sighed. “Fine. So how do I learn? I have your soul. Do I just talk to it?”

The other man shook his head and answered, “You have to _feel_ the command, and you have to envision it traveling to my soul.”

Sam was silent as he thought about that. He supposed it made sense. He was going to have to learn quickly, though, knowing Ivan would have to be kept in check.

“Why do you want me to be your master?” he asked. He knew he’d asked a similar question the day before, but he wanted an answer that wasn’t some creepy thing about Sam being the one to wake him from his sleep.

Ivan shrugged. “It’s all I know, really. I’ve been on this earth for centuries, and the majority of that time, I’ve always been owned by someone. Freedom is a foreign concept to me.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

Once again he shook his head. “I can’t understand something I haven’t experienced, so freedom isn’t something I want. It’s just an idea that I know about.”

Interestingly enough, Sam could make sense of the other man’s thinking. Had he been in Ivan’s position he was sure he’d feel the same way. That didn’t lessen how uncomfortable this all made him feel.

Eventually, Ivan asked, “Can I see it? My soul, I mean.”

Sam glanced at him warily. “You’re not gonna try to take it?”

Another shake of his head.

Hesitantly, he took the amulet out of his pocket and he held it out for Ivan to see.

“What is that?” he asked, shocking Sam completely.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, swinging the amulet forward as he spoke. “It’s your soul.”

Ivan trudged over, staring hard at the artifact that Sam held out. He looked completely bewildered, and an uneasy, cold fear settled in Sam’s stomach.

“Yes, I know the gem is. But, what are all these markings? What’s with the amulet?” He looked up, his eyes accusing. “Did you do this?”

“No, I found it like this!” Ivan was still peering at it, now biting his bottom lip with worry. “So you’re telling me that you didn’t know about your soul being made into an amulet?” 

“Nope. No idea.”

“Great,” Sam muttered. “Yet another weird thing complicating my life.”

Ivan straightened, and stepped back. “Maybe we should hold off on the whole you being my master thing.”

“Non-negotiable,” Sam stated. “I’m not gonna have you running around killing people, and that’s that. So…” he looked down at the amulet, and thought about what he wanted Ivan to do. The best thing to start with would be to test his powers out, see if they had limits. He glanced around him, and spotted a tree that appeared to be dead. “Coat that tree in frost,” he commanded, gesturing towards the tree in question. He did his best to will the words themselves into the amulet, to put conviction behind them.

He studied Ivan as he went over to the tree, and he now faced it, his back towards him. Then, he held out a hand and placed it against the bark. In a second a multitude of tiny, crackling noises met Sam’s ears, and he could see frost, cold and crystalline, spreading its way out from where Ivan was touching it. It took only a few seconds for the entire tree to be completely covered. The man stepped back to let Sam admire his work.

He went up to it, looking up at the branches that stretched out above them. They too were covered in tiny bits of ice. 

“Did you just do that to make me think I had control?” Sam made sure that when he asked the question he directed the energy of it into the amulet.

Ivan answered right away, “No. You’re already figuring out how command me. Even if I didn’t want to answer this question I wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet.”

Suddenly, Ivan dropped to the ground, crying out in pain. The amulet was flashing, the energy in it violent, and the runes on the sides began to glow the same blue as Ivan’s soul.

“Ivan? Ivan, what’s going on?” Sam asked, kneeling beside him.

The man’s face was scrunched up in pain. “Gah! I don’t know.” 

Then, Sam felt something. It was a strange sensation. One that reminded him of the feeling of satisfaction that drinking a glass of cold water after a long run granted him with. It was strengthening, empowering. Thinking the amulet had something to do with it he glanced down at it. The runes were glowing like a blue fire, and the soul within the gem was pulsing, eerily reminding him of a heartbeat. And then, it all stopped, and Ivan heaved in a shuddering breath.

“What…” he gasped out. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered, still looking at the amulet. He truly didn’t understand what had happened, but the sensation of having more strength hadn’t left. It remained there, steady and unwavering. 

And Sam loved it.


	13. Tethered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning something about his connection to the Deathless One, Sam is met with retaliation.

Sam spent the entire morning working with Ivan, figuring out how to truly command him. It was a frustrating process. Sometimes he’d order Ivan to do something and the other man instantly did it, and, coming from the amulet, Sam could feel the compulsion to do so. Other times, just out of the blue, a command wouldn’t work, not even a little bit. Ivan thought it was something to do with the battling emotions he knew Sam had about this. 

All of this was just so confusing. He felt cruel taking control of someone like this, but at the same time, he loved it. In a fight he tended to be superior to others, but after all the times he’d been touched without his consent and tortured, having power like this over someone else was thrilling. More than that, it made him feel safe. Out of everything out there, all the monsters, all the demons and angels, this was the one being who could never lay a finger on him. And, he could keep others from doing the same.

That thought made Sam think that he should really test out Ivan’s powers again. Besides, he was curious to know if the little incident from earlier would repeat itself.

_Only one way to find out._

Ivan stood a few feet away from Sam, his arms crossed as he waited patiently for another order from him.

“Can you turn anything into stone?” he asked him. 

He shrugged. “I’ve never tried it before. My previous masters found it most useful making humans my particular targets for that power. They didn’t think of using it for anything else.”

“Well, I’m gonna be different.” Sam went over to where part of a branch was lying on the ground. It was thick and about three feet long. He handed it to Ivan. “Try turning that to stone.”

“You know, you don’t have to say the command,” Ivan reminded him for maybe the tenth time that day.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I know, but it works better when I do.”

“That’s because you think it does.”

“Quit the back-talking, turn the branch to stone.”

Instantly, Ivan shut up, and Sam could feel the compulsion to do as he said, impeding on his senses from the amulet.

“Yes, master.”

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Sam felt the power, which had been at rest, flare to life again like a seething, roiling wave. With ease, Ivan tamed the energy and drew upon some of it, gathering it upon itself like a focal point. And then he unleashed it on the branch he held.

Sam smiled triumphantly as he watched gray seep out over the bark. Ivan now gripped it with both hands as the molecules morphed, the weight of the branch growing. 

Finally, Ivan released a small huff of exertion, and when he opened his eyes, the entire branch appeared to be made of stone.

Before Sam could verbally tell him to do so Ivan passed it to him. 

He gave him a curious frown, and Ivan simply responded with, “Told you the commands don’t have to be verbal.”

Sam let that one side and started studying the branch. He hefted it in one hand. 

_Huh… Not as heavy as I thought it’d be._

“Step back.”

Ivan did so, and Sam gave an experimental swing. He stumbled forward, his body following the motion of the branch. It was off balance. 

An idea came to him, and Sam went over to a thick, sturdy maple tree. He braced himself and then swung the branch at the tree with all his might. 

_Crack!_

The sound rang out through the trees, and shards of stone and wood flew through the air. Sam winced and stepped back as a few broken pieces of the branch sliced into his cheek. He pressed a hand to it, and when he drew it back they were wet with his blood. Then, Sam looked to what was left of the branch that he held. As he’d suspected, the outside had been a thin layer of stone. Some of the inside had been as well, but as he observed it, he saw mostly wood.

“Guess you have to work on this,” Sam stated, holding the branch out to Ivan to let him see.

Ivan started coming forward, and like earlier in the day, he fell to the ground. This time to his knees, and he was resting one hand against a tree to support himself. His breath came in pained, ragged gasps. 

Sam dropped the branch and rushed to Ivan’s side. As he did so, the amulet, which he’d strung around his neck, was pulsing violently, the runes glowing with virulent energy. Sam wasn’t sure he particularly cared about Ivan’s wellbeing. Rather, it was important to him that Ivan remained strong. 

“Is it like before?” he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder to help support him.

The man’s face was scrunched up in pain, and he simply nodded.

And, the earlier incident continued to repeat itself; Sam felt something flow into him, some tiny sliver of energy. Then it clicked. Ivan’s pain, his soul’s reaction, the runes, the strength Sam gained… the amulet was leeching Ivan’s powers from him, transferring them to Sam.

“I know what’s happening.” 

Ivan looked up at him with pained tears in his eyes. “What?” he managed to get out, though his voice was thick with agony.

Sam braced himself, not knowing exactly how Ivan would respond, and he said, “The amulet is taking your powers and giving them to me.”

A single tear fell and Ivan lowered his head.

The process ended, and the air around them began to grow colder, yet it was thick and crackling with tension.

Sam stood and stepped back from him. “Ivan, what are you doing?” he asked. 

His breath was already misting in the air, the cold creeping in and snuffing out any heat there’d been. He began to shiver in response, shocked at the sudden change in temperature.

Ivan stood slowly, his body seeming to grow larger, and then it was turning gray. Silvery-bronze armor began to creep onto his body as his clothes fell away. Sam stepped back, looking up in terror at the massive creature now before him. It was nearly three feet taller than him, and incredibly wide. And it was skeletal in nature, yet seemed to be made from the bones of the Earth itself.

An ear-shattering scream left the creature, the powerful bellow sending a gust of air in Sam’s direction that made his feet slide backwards through the cover of leaves that littered the floor. Twigs, and leaves blew towards him, blinding him, and Sam raised up his arms to protect his face. 

“Ivan, stop!” he yelled.

The creature took a step forward. “Those are my powers! Mine!”

Sam braced himself as it lumbered forward. “No!” he declared. Despite the way his heart beat ferociously in his chest and the way adrenaline was beginning to course through his veins, his voice was loud and clear. “You are my slave!” Sam yelled. “Your powers are my right!”

He didn’t truly believe those words, but here and now, when his life depended on it, he did.

“Stand down!”

The Deathless One had begun to take another step forward, but it’s gargantuan body quivered as it placed its foot to the ground. Another angry roar left it, and Sam had to raise his arms again as more leaves blew into his face. 

The area around him was now clear of any of the natural decay of the forest, the ground swept clean in the shape of a fan.

He could feel the sheer fury of the Deathless One through the amulet, and Sam nearly felt like he’d be burned away by the force of it. But he battled it with his own will, knowing that if he failed, he’d be dead.

“ _Revert to your human form,_ ” Sam commanded, his voice stern and unyielding. “ _Now._ ”

The air around the Deathless One wavered, as if it was trying to unleash its powers. Sam felt it, beating away at its magical restraints, attempting to break free. 

A strained wordless shout left the hunter, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Exerting his own will over the unyielding, emotional power of the Deathless One was akin to attempting to stop a moving car with his body. Somewhere, Sam’s hold over him cracked, just a little bit, but it was enough for the Deathless One to take one large step forward and swing its arm in Sam’s direction.

The hunter went flying through the air until his back whacked into a tree. The air left his body, and pain exploded in his left side. 

Distracted by the world of hurt he now found himself in, his control completely slipped. Panicked, and breathing hard, Sam grabbed the amulet, staring at it, trying to impose his will into the nightmarish creature lumbering towards him.

Somehow, amidst his fear and pain, he found something to latch onto; perhaps it was the instinct to survive. He used it, unleashing the deep-seated, primal emotion, encasing the Deathless One’s soul in it.

And just like that, the creature froze. Sam glanced up at it, and his heart leapt into his throat. The Deathless One had its hand raised, about to smash it down over Sam’s head. Had Sam gotten control back a second too late he’d be a mess of blood, bones, and organs all over the forest floor.

Talking stoked the fiery pain in his side, rekindling it, but Sam managed to gasp out, “Revert… revert to your… human… form.”

And just like that the Deathless One did so. The air warmed considerably, and the body of the Deathless One shrank and changed, its armor fading away. There was now a man before him, naked and huddled on the ground, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

Sam stood, bracing himself against the tree, and he put a hand to his side. He was beginning to suspect he’d cracked a rib.

He looked down at Ivan. And though he felt a sliver of sympathy for him, he didn’t dare show it. 

“Stay there,” Sam told him. “I’m gonna go get you some clothes to wear.”

_This is ridiculous,_ Sam told himself as he walked away, his back aching with each movement, and his side straining against each breath. _He just tried to kill you and you’re giving him something wear._

Dean wasn’t around when he entered the bunker, which was definitely good because he couldn’t deal with him right now. Sam went to his room, and he started going through his clothes. He ended up grabbing a pair of old jeans he hadn’t worn for a while, along with a shirt he hadn’t even realized he still had. After, he went back outside, and handed them to Ivan.

“Get dressed, and go. I don’t care where you stay, but you can’t be here.”

Ivan looked up at him, an array of emotions in his eyes that were so intense Sam actually looked away. He could scarcely imagine what the other man must be feeling. In fact, Sam hardly knew what he himself was feeling. Everything was too conflicting. There was pity, fear, anger, and somewhere in all that mess, there was satisfaction, joy. If he learned to gain absolute control of Ivan, he could force him to use his powers, and eventually, Sam would no longer be tethered to him. The thought seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders. If he kept this up, he could be free. But Ivan never would be. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Ivan’s soul would descend into Hell once its attachment to this world had diminished, once his powers were drained, and there, he would suffer till time’s end. 

Ivan took the clothes from him, and Sam turned away. 

Once he sensed that the other man was finished he turned to him, his arms crossed. “I’ll call on you tomorrow. And I will take more of your power. I don’t want to be tethered to you,” Sam explained. “I found your soul, but your undoing is your own fault. You forced me into this situation against my will. And now you’re going to pay.”

Without saying another word Ivan turned and trudged off into the forest. As he watched his lean form disappear through the trees Sam idly wondered if the being slept. Probably not since he’d been in hibernation for god knows how long. 

_Whatever. He can skulk around somewhere until tomorrow._

After he left Sam felt his strength wane. Part of it had been an act, and now that he was no longer in danger, it faded away like the last remnants of a great and terrible storm. 

A groan of pain left him and he pressed his hand to his side. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Dean. Luckily, Sam was pretty good about patching himself up, so he wouldn’t need his brother’s help for that. 

As he went back into the bunker he began to wonder if he was even strong enough to survive another day like this, tempting the Deathless One to attack him. But there was no way out of it. He was going to have to try. The tether had to be broken.


	14. Before a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena begins working on the spell, and Vadrach sends Sanren out to collect information for him.

With Vadrach out of the way for now Crowley felt more at ease, and he was able to attend to his kingly duties without issue. He’d had Castiel moved to a room adjacent to the throne room, and it would be kept locked, more for Castiel’s safety than for any other reason. It was for the best. No one could go in to see Castiel without Crowley knowing about it, he couldn’t overhear any pertinent information about Hell, and Vadrach would have nothing to complain about. What made it the best place was that Rowena could come and go as she pleased with no one but the angel and the King of Hell being the wiser. So that’s where the witch was now, preparing the spell she would need to help Castiel fake his death.

Rowena gave the angel an amused smile when she noticed him coming closer to her. There was a table in the center of the room that she was during all her work at, and Castiel had stayed well away till now. 

“This spell,” Castiel began, “you’re sure it will work?”

He was now eyeing the different materials she was working with; various powders, bones, and small vials of blood. 

“Of course it will,” she answered as she picked through the bones laid out on a cloth before her. After finding the one she needed – a baby’s fibula – she dropped it into a bowl where she began to crush it up. “It’s relatively simple; just takes a while to get everything together.”

Castiel now came closer, standing across the table from her. He picked up one of the bones.

“What creature are these from?” he asked.

Rowena took it from him, placing it down again. “That’s none of your business,” she answered, knowing that he wouldn’t approve. “All you need to know is that the work I’m doing will allow you to escape.”

He turned away from her and began pacing. “I must admit, I feel rather odd with you helping me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I’m not helping you. I’m helping my son, which just so happens to involve getting you out of here.”

“Why _are_ you helping him?”

As she poured the crushed up remains of the bone into the larger bowl she was using for the spellwork she looked up at him, giving him a sly smile. “Would you believe me if I said it’s because I love him?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, squinting his eyes at her in confusion, so she went on, “You know me better than you think, Castiel. You’re intelligent. I’m sure you can figure out my true intentions.”

The angel began pacing, and Rowena went back to her work. It didn’t bother her that Castiel was thinking the matter over. Besides, she didn’t need him paying attention to the materials she was using; which was exactly what would happen had she not given him something to think about.

While he was facing away from her, Rowena slipped a white feather from the sleeve of her dress where she’d kept it hidden and placed it in the bowl, mixing it in with the other contents till it was indiscernible. Castiel didn’t need to know that this spell required an angel feather. Truthfully, she didn’t know how the person she’d bought it from had acquired it, but asking too many questions in her line of work was frowned upon.

Eventually, Castiel said, “While Crowley has the throne you’re in a position of power, of influence, and you know that you’re relatively safe from his demons. If Vadrach takes control you’ll lose all of that.”

“I knew you could use that brain of yours. Now, I have something to ask you.” 

He paused in his stride, looking at her. “You do?”

“Aye.” Castiel gave a nod of his head, signaling her to continue, and she asked, “What were you doing with my son before Vadrach imprisoned you?”

Castiel pressed his lips together, seeming hesitant to answer, but he eventually did, “A couple of nights ago Crowley and I felt a massive energy surge. We’ve been trying to figure out what caused it, but so far we’ve found nothing.”

 _So they’re involved with this as well,_ Rowena thought, her mind traveling back to her meeting with the Winchesters and the amulet Sam had found.

She still felt a wee bit guilty for lying to Sam about the amulet, but she knew that had she told the truth he would have found some way to destroy it before he ever learned about the power at his command. So despite the extremely useful ring he’d given her (which she now wore at all times), she’d lied. She’d known about the creature he would be able to control, about the abilities he’d steal from it, and she knew of the way the amulet tended to poison the minds of those who wielded it; that was the harm she had warned would come to him.

“Have you tried contacting the Winchesters?” Rowena questioned.

“Not about this. They have their own situation they’re dealing with. In fact, I was supposed to meet with them today to try and help them.”

“Well,” she began, crushing up a few herbs and adding them to her bowl, “have you stopped to consider the possibility that your problem, and theirs, are connected?”

The angel was now looking down, a frown on his face. “I don’t see how they could be.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He went over to her again, tilting his head as he studied her. “Do you know something about all this? Sam told me he met with you… Are you keeping something from us?”

Rowena smiled. “Now, why would I do that?” Before Castiel could say anything more she commanded, “Hold out your hand.”

Tentatively, the angel did so, and Rowena grabbed a knife from the table, running it across his palm. He winced, but didn’t draw back. 

He spoke as his blood slowly dripped into the bowl, “I often wonder why you do anything. The life you live, it doesn’t seem to make you happy.”

Just to lash out for that comment Rowena almost slid the knife across his palm once more, but she reined herself in. 

“Why does it matter if I’m happy or not?”

“I suppose it doesn’t, but I always see humans fighting for something. What are you fighting for?”

The angel’s perceptive questioned struck her, and with a shaking hand, she lowered the knife back onto the table. Emotions that she usually kept a very tight lid on were suddenly flowing into her, along with painful memories. In that moment she felt alone and despairing, hopeless. Through all that it came to her attention that Castiel’s blood was still dripping into the bowl. 

Feigning anger, she shoved a handkerchief at him and said, “If you want this to work right you’ll stop bleeding all over everything.”

She turned away, not wanting the angel to see her face for fear that he would recognize what she was feeling. It wasn’t often that someone was able to get to who she really was, and he’d managed to do it with only a few words. She supposed she deserved to feel like this after all the wrong she’d done. 

The redheaded witch took in a deep breath and smoothed her dress before turning back to him. 

“I’m fighting for power,” she finally answered. “Nothing more.”

“That’s an empty existence.”

“It doesn’t matter how you see it,” she told him. “With power you can bend others to your will, acquire anything you truly want. You can make people fear you, love you, and above all, you can live a life free of suffering, or of sorrow.”

Castiel eyed her, and Rowena grew uncomfortable. 

“Is that what you truly think?”

For some reason she answered honestly, “No, but it’s what helps me get through the day.” She shook herself from her thoughts and then declared, “Well, that’s all for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“How much longer will it take to get the spell ready?”

“Two more days at the most,” she replied, “but don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

 

Vadrach was bored listening to Sanren. He knew that Crowley had simply given him this job to get him out of the way. So far there was nothing interesting for the other demon to report, so his mind wandered. He thought about Hell, and what it’d be like under his management. There’d be no more of this silly alliance with the Winchesters and their angel, no more mercy for any of them. His sole focus would be on Hell, keeping it in order, and using demons to their utmost potential. He saw himself as someone who could be very useful, yet here he was, listening to some dumb report about a demon turned to stone. He didn’t give a damn about this. Of course, as king he’d have to pretend that such things interested him, but he wasn’t king yet.

Some of Sanren’s words made it to him, and they instantly earned his interest. “…and I found this abandoned building with lots of wardings placed on it.”

“And then what?” Vadrach questioned.

Sanren shrugged. “I told Crowley about it, but he didn’t seem all that interested. Personally I find it kind of strange.”

Vadrach’s thin lips curled into a smile. The only explanation for Crowley’s behavior was that he was hiding something.

“Sanren, I want you to go back to that building and keep watch. If you find out anything else, come back straightaway and report to me.”

“You don’t want me to report to-“

Knowing the name the other demon was about to say, Vadrach cut him off (just thinking about Crowley was enough to infuriate him), “He gave this assignment to me, so until all the facts are known there is no need to get him involved.”

Sanren nodded, seeming to think that was a reasonable explanation.

“Now go,” Vadrach ordered. 

“A-alone?”

“What, scared of an abandoned building?”

“No, sir,” he answered. “I’ll be going.”

With that the other demon left and Vadrach was on his own. It intrigued him that Crowley had paid no mind to the building Sanren had found. That meant he knew something. What could he be hiding?

 

The afternoon came and went and Castiel never showed. Dean’s first thought was that maybe Sam had called him and told him not to come by, but when he questioned his brother about it he seemed as equally confused. So then Dean had tried giving the angel a call. No answer. Next he tried tracking the GPS. It was shut off.

“There’s something wrong,” Dean said after closing his laptop in defeat.

“So what do we do?” Sam asked.

“There’s not much we can do,” he answered. “He could be anywhere, and we don’t even know what he was doing before he agreed to come here.”

“So we wait?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t like it, but yeah, I guess we wait.”

He looked to his brother, once again filling with frustration as he took note of the cuts on his cheek. He hadn’t told him where they’d come from, and had simply said that he was fine. But Sam was hurt somewhere else. Dean knew his brother too well, there was pain in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it.

“You gonna tell me how you got hurt?” Dean quested, hoping that his nagging would eventually make Sam cave.

“They’re just scratches,” Sam responded, tilting his head away from him. “It’s no big deal.”

“I’m not an idiot, Sam. You’re hurt somewhere else. I know it.”

“I’m fine.”

Dean wiped his hands over his face, a frustrated groan leaving him. He knew that Sam didn’t want to tell him about what was going on, but now he was hurt. Dean couldn’t just sit by and let this happen to him.

“Who hurt you?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” his younger brother answered quietly. “I’m taking care of it. Eventually they won’t be able to hurt me or anyone else ever again.”

“It’s that Ivan guy, isn’t it?”

Sam gave a noncommittal shrug. “Sort of. It’s hard to explain.”

“Come on, man, just talk to me. I’ve got nothing better to do, so you have all the time in the world to explain things to me.” Sam still wasn’t looking at him, so Dean reached out and lightly tapped his face. “Hey, look at me.”

His brother turned his head towards him and he was met with an angry glare. 

“I know you said this thing is something you gotta take care of on your own, but you gotta understand, I can’t just sit and do nothing while you’re out there getting hurt.”

“I’m okay, Dean,” he said emphatically.

“No, you’re not okay.”

“So what, you get to decide that for me now?” Sam asked. 

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he absolutely hated it when his brother twisted his words like that. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve had so many people make my decisions for me all my life, so now, what I’m doing, I’m gonna change that. It’s all gonna change.”

“Sam, you’re not making any sense.”

Abruptly, his brother stood from his chair. “Whatever. I’m going out.”

“Where to?” Dean called at his brother’s retreating form.

“Nowhere.”

And just like that he was gone, closing the bunker door with a little more force than necessary. Dean put his head in his hands. What had Sam meant about changing things? It hadn’t escaped Dean’s notice that when Sam had left, the amulet had been around his neck. God, he wished Castiel has showed up. He really needed his help. But more than that, he was now worried about his friend. Now Dean had two problems to deal with, and nothing to do about either of them.

 

At first Sam had actually contemplated getting a drink. When things got rough he didn’t crawl into a bottle like Dean tended to, but he could see the appeal of it. Rather, he just decided to take a walk to try and clear his head. With the sun setting the air had grown colder, but Sam didn’t mind. Thanks to the Deathless One, the cold air was something he was getting used to.

He didn’t really think about where he was going; he just picked a direction and walked. 

As the sun continued its descent, the sky grew darker, but the amulet gave Sam some light to see by. Then, ahead of him he saw people walking about with flashlights. Recognizing them as police officers, he ducked down behind a boulder, wincing as the quick movement sent pain lancing through his torso. There’d been no cry of alarm so he knew he hadn’t been spotted. 

After zipping up his jacket to hide the glow of the amulet, Sam slowly poked his head out over the top of the boulder to see what was going on. They seemed to have found one of the people that Ivan had killed. Anger boiled in Sam as he watched them work, searching the area for evidence. Ivan had no right to take lives simply to get his attention. No right at all.

Two of the police officers were drawing closer in their search, so Sam thought it was time to make his escape before they caught him. He hadn’t been the one to kill them, but he feared that he could still be tied to the murders. The last thing he needed was to get arrested yet again. There’d be a great deal of confusion if that happened, seeing as he’d already been on the FBI’s most wanted list and was supposedly dead. 

As he slowly retreated from the scene he silently wished he had Dean’s abilities when it came to silent movement. Somehow his brother was very light on his feet when he wanted to be. 

And those skills would’ve come in handy because just then he stepped on a twig and it snapped beneath his foot. 

Instantly, Sam twisted his body, hiding behind a tree.

“Did you hear that?” one of the police officers asked. “I think something’s out there.”

“Probably just an animal.”

“I’m still gonna check it out. Be right back.”

Sam didn’t dare move as he heard the police officer now treading in his direction.

An idea came to him, and feeling rather curious, Sam decided to try it. He tilted his head till he was able to see the police officer, and then, he looked to the ground before him. He pictured ice covering the ground, and he did his best to will that image into reality. There were some quiet crackling sounds, and then, the bare patch of ground was frozen. 

In the dimming light, even with his flashlight, it was too late for the police officer to notice the ice, and as his heel came down on it, he slipped, falling backwards. That was when Sam made a run for it.

There were shouts behind him as he was spotted, but he kept running. The police officers were in pursuit for a few minutes, but the ever-darkening sky made their job more difficult, so they soon lost sight of him.

Sam’s side burned, the muscles around his broken rib not liking the extra work. After catching his breath he made his way back to the bunker.

Unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t the only one out in the woods with the police officers. As he went back into the bunker a lone demon watched him with wide eyes, barely believing that he’d found the Winchesters. Once the door closed behind the hunter, Sanren left, ready to report back to Vadrach.


	15. When It Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes clean about the amulet, and he and Ivan are taken by surprise.

To Sam’s surprise sleep hadn’t eluded him. He chalked it up to the injuries he’d received, so he didn’t wake feeling refreshed, but he supposed that a few hours of dreamless sleep were better than nothing. His side was aching fiercely, and he just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he should even get up. Surely Ivan could wait another day before Sam met with him again. Come to think of it he’d probably prefer that. It’d just be one more day that he’d be able to keep his powers away from Sam. And that’s what motivated the younger Winchester to get out of bed.

This situation he was stuck in, he was going to get out of it, even if that meant pushing himself past what he could take. He knew he should probably rest and let his body heal, but that didn’t matter so much to him at the moment. Freeing himself was what mattered.

So he went about getting ready for the day. To his surprise Dean was already up, and Sam found him in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked his brother, knowing that he was one for sleeping in.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m worried. About you, about Cas.”

Sam made himself a cup of coffee and then sat down across from Dean. He wanted to say something about Dean not having to worry about him, but he realized, that if he were in his brother’s position, he’d be worried too, so he settled for lowering his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“I just wish you’d quit saying that.”

“But I am.”

“I know you are,” Dean told him, “that’s why you can stop saying it.”

“Oh.”

Sam took a sip of his coffee, mulling things over. Ever since the talk they’d had in the motel room being around Dean had been difficult. Maybe it was time to come clean about what he’d gotten forced into.

His brother drained the last of his coffee, and then stood. “I’m gonna go try and find a case,” he informed him. “You could always tag along if you want.”

“Actually, Dean, I think you should sit down.” His brother eyed him suspiciously, so Sam went on, “Please, just for a couple of minutes.”

Dean reclaimed his seat across from him and asked, “You finally ready to tell me what’s up?”

Sam nodded and then straightened. “Yeah. Think so.” He looked to Dean, but grew uncomfortable and he found himself staring down into his coffee. “You’re probably gonna be mad, or you’re gonna jump to conclusions, but you have to promise me that you’ll let me keep doing what I’m doing.”

His brother pursed his lips as he thought. “That’s not a promise I can make. You know that.”

Sam had expected as much, but that didn’t make it any easier. He took in a deep breath before going on, “So the amulet… it’s um, actually someone’s soul.”

“Then why is it called the Amulet of the Deathless One?”

He found the courage to look up from his coffee, and decided to just list the facts, keeping this as emotionless as possible. “It’s the soul _of_ the Deathless One who has uh…” Sam paused to clear his throat. “He’s taken to calling himself Ivan.” Another pause, this time so he could try and gauge Dean’s reaction, but his brother was still, clearly intent on listening. “Since I have his soul, I can control him.”

Now his brother frowned, obviously uncomfortable with that information. “That’s possible?”

“I hardly believed it myself; didn’t really want to, but as of yesterday, I’d say it’s more than possible.”

“So let me get this straight, you can control this guy? What do you even gain from that?”

“One, he’s immortal, two, he has powers. He’d be pretty handy in a fight.”

“But we already do just fine on our own,” Dean argued. “Sam, if this is you thinking that you’re not enough then that’s not true. You know that.”

He shook his head sadly, memories of the final trial coming back to him, of the sins he’d confessed. 

“I don’t always know that,” he admitted. “I’ve let you down so many times. I’ve let myself down.”

He looked away, feeling the familiar warm pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes.

“So that’s what this is about?”

Sam emitted a rumbling noise from his chest as he attempted to draw himself back to the conversation at hand. “Uh, no, actually it’s not. You see, all those dead bodies I saw out in the woods, the cases we’d been working – that was Ivan,” he explained. His next words were quiet, but there was no mistaking the hatred that filled them, “He’s forcing me to be his master. If I didn’t do as he said he’d kill more people.”

His brother stared at him with wide eyes, trying to make sense of the strange situation. 

“That is _messed up_ ,” Dean eventually said. “So he takes away your control of the situation just so you can control him?” Sam nodded. “That bastard must be nine kinds of crazy.”

“Oh, he is,” Sam affirmed, feeling a little better knowing that Dean didn’t yet see him as the one at fault; he still had to tell him about what the amulet itself did. “But there’s more,” he went on, “and this is the part I’m not sure you’d approve of.” Dean just raised his eyebrows at him, signaling him to continue. Sam took a quick sip of his coffee, hoping the hot liquid would help steel himself. Then, he explained, “The language on the amulet, it’s some kind of spell. Every time I command Ivan to use his powers, the spell siphons his abilities to me.”

“Temporarily?”

“Permanently.”

Now it was his brother’s turn to look away from him and he was frowning down at the table. “Oh,” he uttered.

Feeling rather hesitant, Sam continued, “So I thought I’d take all his powers from him to, you know, keep him from hurting anyone else.”

“Is that the only reason?” Dean asked. They locked gazes, and a million words passed between them. His older brother then lowered his head in understanding, and said another, “Oh.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam said yet again. “I’m trying to get out of this situation, and taking Ivan’s powers will allow me to do that, but-“

Dean cut in, “You _like_ the power, and you know you like it a little too much. What if this changes you, Sam? It already seems like it is.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” he admitted. How he hated saying that out loud. It just reiterated how helpless he felt, how pathetic. Sam put his face in his hands. Even with the one gaining power in this situation he knew how it would turn out. The times he’d had power had never been good. He always changed, always became someone he later despised. That was no doubt going to happen again, and what was worse was that there really was no other way out of this. 

Dean shook his head in denial. “No, there’s always something.”

Sam lifted up his head. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t care if it’s true or not. Together, _we_ are gonna find a way to get you out of this.”

“Dean, there’s nothing.”

“There has to be!” he shouted, startling Sam and causing him to flinch. This sudden anger from his brother was exactly one of the reasons he’d wanted to keep his dealings with the Deathless One quiet. But now, Dean was allowing himself to be consumed by a desperate rage, and he was up out of his seat and pacing. “I’m not just gonna sit by and watch this turn you into something you’re not! Look, maybe you don’t care, maybe part of you wants this, but later on down the road you’re gonna regret not fighting.”

Those words stung and Sam stood, confronting Dean. “You think I haven’t tried?!” he shouted. “I have, Dean! There’s nothing. Absolutely _nothing_ I can do! Do you even know what it feels like to be this helpless? To just watch as for the millionth time a life-altering decision is made _for_ me? Let me tell you, it _sucks_. Okay? It _really_ sucks. So after all I’ve been through you think this is me just lying down and giving up?”

“I didn’t _say_ you’ve given up. What I’m saying is that maybe there are things you haven’t thought about.”

Sam shook his head and walked away from Dean, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing, man.” He turned back to him. “Like I said the other day, you just have to make sure I don’t go too far, that I don’t start hurting people.”

Dean took a step closer to him, tears in his eyes. “Sammy, I’m not gonna let you get to that point. I promise I won’t let that happen.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” he told him bitterly.

“It doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m still gonna try. I don’t care what you say.”

Sam looked away as he tried to compose himself. “Then I’m not gonna stop you. I just hope you’re ready to be disappointed.”

He had originally planned on eating his breakfast, but after such an emotional conversation with Dean he found that he had no appetite. He didn’t even bother to finish his coffee. So after going to his room to grab a jacket, he left, deciding to work with Ivan again.

He should’ve thought of calling Ivan to him _before_ he went outside into the chilly, autumn morning. However, Sam was too stubborn to go back inside, so he sat on an old tree stump some feet away from the bunker entrance, waiting for him. It was some time before he showed up, and Sam had taken to pacing back and forth in order to stay warm. 

The other man looked rather despondent as he trudged over to him.

“Going to take more of my powers?” he asked.

Once again, part of Sam felt sympathetic about what he was doing, but mostly, he was eager to get to work. 

Sam just tilted his head at him in a way that said, _Obviously._

Ivan stood before him, and said, “Then just get on with it.”

Sam frowned, not sure he could trust this open display of hopelessness. He’d expected more of a test of wills, but here, Ivan was offering himself up to him. Compared to the anger he’d shown yesterday, the ferocity, this had him rather taken aback.

So he hesitated.

And Ivan took advantage of that.

He lunged at Sam, catching him by surprise, and using a trick similar to the one Sam had pulled on the police officer the night before, he was bowled over, his feet slipping out from under him. He landed on his back with Ivan on top of him. The air was knocked from his lungs, and as much as he tried to get in a breath, he couldn’t. One of Ivan’s knees was pressing against his broken rib, moving it out of place.

Distracted by the near-blinding pain, it was difficult to form a proper command to send through the amulet. He tried, but he felt like he was grasping at smoke, watching it slip through his fingers.

Ivan punched him, and Sam’s head flung to the side, pain exploding in his jaw. He went in for another punch, but Sam’s instincts kicked in. His agony was brushed to the side for now, and he grabbed Ivan’s wrist, twisting it away from him, redirecting the force of the blow so that they both heard loud cracks as bones broke. 

Ivan reeled back, falling off of Sam. The hunter kicked out at him, his foot making contact with his chest, and Ivan landed on his back. In a second Sam was on his feet, and he kicked Ivan again, feeling no remorse for the pain he was causing him. The other man moaned in pain and curled in on himself. With a shove of his foot he rolled Ivan onto his back. The man tried to rise, but Sam instantly stepped lightly on his chest, putting just enough pressure to serve as a warning.

“Remember how I said I have a dungeon?” Sam asked. “Try anything like that again and I’ll show you to it.”

The other man nodded in understanding.

And that was when a knife went whizzing past Sam’s head, missing him by only half an inch.


	16. Dethroned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vadrach confronts Crowley about the information Sanren gave him.

Apprehension coiled Crowley’s stomach as he looked upon the demons who approached the throne, fanning out around him, cutting him off from the exit. Vadrach stood directly before him with Sanren on his right, and there were at least ten others. He recognized what was going to happen. Somehow, Vadrach had found something worthy of questioning his leadership over, and he had witnesses. More than that, he had those who could make sure Crowley didn’t put up much of a fight. Things weren’t looking good.

Rowena was in the adjacent room with Castiel working on the spell that he knew would no longer be needed. If only there were some way to signal to them that he was in trouble.

“Vadrach,” Crowley greeted, pretending nothing was wrong. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I spoke with Sanren like you asked me to,” he began. “I found out something rather interesting.”

Crowley squinted his eyes at him, wondering where he was going with this. “Do go on.”

“Sanren told me that he came across a warded building in the woods, and the tracks from Cethra’s body led there.”

“Well, they probably would’ve led there,” Sanren piped in nervously. 

At hearing his voice Vadrach turned a steely gaze on him, and the other demon lowered his head.

“I’m well aware of Sanren finding that building,” Crowley said.

“Then why didn’t you have it investigated?”

Irked at being questioned like this Crowley answered, “Because, unlike you, Vadrach, I understand the concept of prioritizing and using my time and resources wisely. Had I sent someone to investigate a warded building that’s seemingly abandoned, what would that have gained me? Nothing. It’s warded, so no demons are going in or out, so you’d just be standing there staring at a bloody wall all day!”

His show of anger didn’t have the intended effect. Usually that would cow any insubordinates back into submission, but none of the demons before him seemed to be backing down. Vadrach even had an amused glint in his dark eyes.

He smiled ever so slightly. “I had the building investigated,” he explained, “and Sanren here found something rather interesting. Sanren, if you would.”

He gestured with a hand for Sanren to step forward, and the taller demon did so, albeit anxiously, not meeting Crowley’s eyes.

“The Winchesters are there.”

Now Vadrach stepped forward, putting a hand on Sanren’s chest and giving him a little shove so that he was standing behind him. His smile hadn’t left. It was the smile of a hunter who was watching as their prey fell into a trap they’d set.

Crowley, being the prey, swallowed nervously.

“But you already knew that,” Vadrach voiced. His smile widened. With this information now said, Vadrach had the upper hand. “So, do you care to explain why you kept their location a secret?”

There was nothing for the King of Hell to say. If Vadrach had managed to piece together that he’d known about their location then he already knew why Crowley had kept such knowledge a secret.

“Nothing to say?” he prompted. He waited a few seconds to see if Crowley would explain himself before continuing, “Then that’s settled. Crowley, you are hereby proclaimed a traitor of Hell.”

“On whose authority?” he roared, coming to his feet.

He’d meant to handle this with more grace, but being called a traitor to the very kingdom that he ruled and served was an outrage. His fear was forgotten, the other demons in the room were forgotten. It was just he and Vadrach, and his pulse raced wildly as their eyes met.

“On mine,” the other demon said, seeming rather pleased with himself. “As advisor to the throne, and with witnesses, I have full authority to strip you of your title if any of your actions have threatened the safety of our realm.”

“How is withholding the location of the Winchesters threatening Hell?” Crowley asked. 

Deep down he knew his question was utterly ridiculous. The answer was as clear as day, so blatantly obvious an infant could probably see it.

Vadrach raised his eyebrows, his lips quirking up even more. Of all things, he seemed amused. Then again, were Crowley in his situation he’d be amused by such a stupid question.

“They have killed countless demons,” Vadrach answered, “and as long as they live we are all in danger. Have you forgotten the time that Sam Winchester attempted to close the gates of Hell? What if he tries to do something like that again?”

Crowley clenched his hands into fists, very much wanting to punch the other demon that stood before him. But if he did so, a fight would break out, and he would ultimately lose; he was greatly outnumbered; unless of course he could get Castiel and Rowena to help. 

He kept that idea in reserve as he answered tartly, “I remember it more than most.”

“Good. So we’re agreed. The Winchesters are a danger to Hell, and you’ve withheld their location, putting others in danger.” Vadrach paused, letting that all sink in. “You’re no longer fit to be king, Crowley. Step down.”

“And what about the council?”

“I’ve already discussed it with the council. They share the same beliefs I do.”

Now Crowley eyed the other demons in the room. Some of them had their heads bowed, as if they were ashamed to betray him like this. If a fight started would they really go against him? He wanted to believe they wouldn’t, but Vadrach’s confidence said otherwise. Despite the shame the other demons felt they were fully supportive of the demon who would most likely become their new leader. Sanren was the only one who seemed to be straddling the line.

“And what if I don’t step down?” he asked, raising his head.

“Then, things get ugly.”

Rather than saying anything and giving Vadrach a chance to strike first, Crowley ran forward and smashed his fist into the other demon’s jaw. His chances weren’t that good, but he wasn’t about to give up the throne without a fight. He was too prideful for that. If that cost him his life then so be it.

Chaos broke out in the throne room.

 

Rowena and Castiel snapped their heads up at the sounds that traveled to them from the throne room; primal yells, cries of pain, and above all, one angry voice that seemed unyielding amidst the torrent of voices and confusion.

Hurriedly, Castiel made his way to the door and flung it open, sparks flying as the lock broke off in a screech of metal. There was a mass of demons all kicking and punching at one target; Crowley. The ones who weren’t in reach of him were shoving at their comrades in order to get them out of the way. One demon stood off to the side, chewing his thumbnail as he took in the sight before him with wide eyes. Castiel recognized his tall form and dark skin. It was Sanren. 

Castiel entered the room, intent on helping Crowley despite the numbers they were faced with. Heads turned at realizing he was free from his prison. A few looked fearful, but others smiled, excited at the prospect of taking down an angel. 

For a moment, he tried to summon his angel blade, and that was when he remembered that Vadrach had taken it. Aggravated but not put off by his lack of weapon, Castiel flung himself at his would-be attackers. The demons were taken by surprise by his sheer ferocity, and Castiel was able to knock some of them down to the ground. 

Instinctively, he reached inward for his grace, wishing to smite them, but then he stopped himself. He was still regaining the power he’d lost from The Fall, and he couldn’t smite all these demons. In fact, he probably only had enough power at the moment to smite one of them. 

_I’ll save it for Vadrach._

Though he managed to crush the windpipes of the two demons he’d knocked to the floor, his slight pause as he considered whether to smite them or not had been a grave mistake. 

A booted foot kicked him in the chin and he was knocked backwards. More demons fell upon him once he was down, but Castiel managed to dodge the punches they aimed at him. The kicks to his ribs were a different matter, but he weathered through the pain, looking for a break in his assailants’ strength. He found it when one demon drew back and paused, seeming to take too much pleasure in the sight of an angel lying seemingly helpless before them. Castiel took advantage of that, and grabbed their leg behind their knee, pulling so that they lost their balance and fell. Now with one less demon attacking him for the moment it was easier to get his bearings. 

The feeling that something was coming towards him made Castiel twist his body to the side, and he felt air rush by him as a fist narrowly missed his head. A cry of pain left the demon as the bones of his hand shattered against the floor.

Castiel leapt to his feet, his fists swinging at two demons who sought to attack him. While they were left reeling from the blows, Castiel stepped back, slamming his foot down on the demon with the shattered hand. This snapped his wrist, and as he leaned down to cradle his hand to his chest Castiel whirled and kicked out, sending him backwards and into the door of the room he’d been in.

Rowena rushed out of the room, the bowl she’d been using the spellwork for in her hands. She made her way unhindered to a demon who was pushing at a few others in an attempt to get to Crowley, and promptly threw the contents of the bowl in his face. The mixture of blood, herbs, bones, and possibly other unspeakable things blinded him and stung his eyes. He let out a cry of pain as he wiped frantically at his face.

Castiel couldn’t help but be impressed with Rowena as she too joined the fight, her hands out as she shouted incantations and words of power.

The angel lost track of who he was fighting, and simply got lost in the motions and the vicious dance of bodies. He pulled his fist back, about to punch another demon in the gut, but this one held out its hands.

“No, no! I’m on your side,” he exclaimed, cringing away from Cas.

Blinking some blood from his eyes that had gotten into them from cuts upon his brow, Castiel was able to make out the face of the demon before him. He took a deep breath, clearing his head, and recognized the face. It was Sanren. 

Rather than saying anything else the demon swung out his arm, and Castiel ducked. There was a rush of air as his fist missed him by at least a foot, but then he heard a grunt of pain. Castiel turned, surprised as a demon who’d been behind him holding a knife crumpled to the ground.

He nodded his thanks to Sanren and then returned to the fight.

 

Crowley could hardly see with all the blood in his eyes. With each blow he became weaker, and pain soon encompassed him. But he couldn’t give up. He had to keep fighting. So he thrashed weakly, crying out as Vadrach continued to punch him, showing no mercy. 

He idly noticed that the other demon was wearing rings, no doubt hoping to inflict more pain.

“Give up!” Vadrach shouted, spittle flying from his mouth in his rage. With a yell he turned and pushed the other demons away from him, wanting Crowley all to himself.

Crowley was vaguely aware of fighting elsewhere in the throne room, which surely meant that Castiel and Rowena had come to his aid.

Vadrach grabbed the collar of his shirt in both hands, hauling him up so that their faces were close together. There was no mistaking the glint in the other demon’s eyes that spoke of his sanity not quite being all the way there.

“There is no reason for you to keep fighting,” he hissed. “You can’t win, and even if you do, there’s no way you could cover this up. Your reign is over Crowley.”

“I’m not going to stop fighting,” he answered weakly, his voice coming out as a wheeze. “You’re just going… to have to kill me.”

Vadrach dropped him to the ground and reached into his coat. “With pleasure.” He pulled out an angel blade – the one he’d taken from Castiel – and raised it.

Crowley faced him down, not wanting to turn away from obliteration. He’d face it. It was his decisions that had led to this moment, and his pride that had let it go this far. Losing the throne was humiliation enough, but turning away from his own destruction would be the utmost sign of cowardice. He wouldn’t give Vadrach the satisfaction of humiliating him further.

Just then, two dainty looking hands grabbed hold of Vadrach’s wrist, and he turned in surprise, his eyes widening as he saw Rowena. 

“Not my son, you bastard!” she screeched before yelling an incantation that sent Vadrach flying backwards till he hit the wall. The angel blade clattered from his hands as he slumped to the floor.

Crowley was thankful for being saved, but he found himself frowning in confusion.

“Mother?” he asked as she helped him to his feet.

Recognizing what he must be thinking Rowena responded, “Don’t think this is because I care about you, dear. I just planned on being the one to kill you, and I won’t have some slippery demon take that from me.”

Crowley didn’t bother to make sense of her words. He couldn’t tell if she was lying or telling the truth, and he supposed that right now it didn’t matter.

Despite her petite figure Rowena was quite strong and was able to help Crowley limp towards the entrance of the adjoining room. However, before they could get there, a demon charged at her. Utterly helpless given the vast amount of injuries he had Crowley fell to the ground as his mother was torn away from him. The demon pinned Rowena to the ground, and she straddled her, holding her wrists down. 

Rowena struggled against her assailant, and Crowley watched in shock as the demon above her said a spell of her own. Instantly, Rowena stopped moving, her body frozen. He wasn't sure if it was important, but Crowley noticed that the ring that had been on her finger earlier was gone. Maybe all the pain was making him pay attention to odd things.

“You’re not the only one whose familiar with magic, bitch.”

Angered at seeing his mother in such a position Crowley summoned what strength he had left and threw himself at the demon. They crashed to the ground beside Rowena, and with the demon’s concentration broken, she was free. She scrambled to her feet. A demon was coming up behind her and before Crowley could shout a warning, he fell to the ground, Sanren standing above him. Rowena said a thank you and then rushed to Crowley again, trying to help him to his rise.

Crowley was too shocked to put much effort into moving. He didn’t think Sanren had the guts to go against Vadrach. 

There was a _whoosh_ as a streak of silver flew threw the air, hurtling towards Sanren. The projectile met its target, and Sanren looked down, stunned at the angel blade embedded in his chest. He looked to Crowley, and then he sparked out in orange light, his body falling heavily to the ground.

The fight was still going on, and Castiel seemed to need help, but there was nothing Crowley could do, and Rowena seemed bent on protecting him. Maybe if they both lived through this he could question her motive. Keeping him safe didn’t seem like something she’d willingly do. 

Vadrach clambered to his feet, stalked over to Sanren’s body and carelessly ripped the blade from his chest. The silver metal was tainted red with his blood. He turned on Crowley.

“Do you know what amuses me the most about all of this?” Vadrach asked. “How pointless it all is. Even as you fight, the Winchesters are under attack. I sent twenty demons to take them out before I came to confront you. It’s a shame that you won’t get to watch the deaths of your pathetic, human friends.”

Crowley felt rage surge up in him, hot and volatile. The emotion gave him strength and he rose to his feet and lunged himself at Vadrach. The other demon had seen that move coming and he easily sidestepped, causing Crowley to stumble. With a well-placed, and rather painful, kick to his back Crowley found himself sprawled out on the floor. 

Vadrach rolled him over. Behind the other demon, Crowley could see Rowena going back into the room, and she seemed to be hurriedly putting a spell together; perhaps a teleportation spell. Castiel was still fighting, the odds stacked against him. It all seemed hopeless; the feeling was punctuated by the sight of Vadrach with the angel blade raised again, intent on burying it into Crowley’s heart.

Crowley watched as his friend fought, as he was beaten down to the ground. He rose to his feet again, wiped some blood from his lip, and kept fighting, but he was growing weaker all the time.

Crowley came to a decision. If he was going to go he didn’t want to take down Castiel with him.

“Go, Castiel!” he yelled to the angel.

Castiel smote a demon in order to break away from the fighting, and then he rushed to Rowena, managing to spare Crowley a saddened glance.

Then, everything happened so quickly. Castiel had grabbed onto Rowena’s shoulder so that wherever she would go he’d be taken with her, Rowena had raised her hands and shouted a word, throwing something into the bowl before her, a red burst of energy had risen up around them, and Vadrach had turned, throwing the angel blade. Crowley watched, completely helpless, as it struck Rowena just above her left hip and itself buried to the hilt, and then she and Castiel vanished in a burst of light.


	17. Into the Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean fight for their lives against a horde of demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little longer to get this chapter out; I've been really sick. And remember, comments are always welcome. :)

The knife buried itself into the bark of a tree off to Sam’s right with an audible _thwunk_. Instinctively he stepped off of Ivan and dove to the ground in a roll, just in case any more projectiles were headed in his direction. It was a good thing he did so because another knife went whizzing through the air two feet above his head. There was a tree not far from him, so he took cover behind it, dragging Ivan with him.

“What’s happening?” he asked, moving to get up and peer around the tree in a way that would leave much of him exposed.

“Shut up, and stay down,” Sam growled out quietly.

Slowly, he inched his head out from behind the tree, trying to take stock of the situation. There were people approaching, a lot of them. A rough count told him there were at least twenty of them. They were circling around, cutting him off from the bunker.

Then he saw their eyes, blacker than night and empty like the void.

“Shit,” Sam exclaimed quietly, resting his head back against the tree.

“What is it?” Ivan asked.

“Demons. Twenty of them.”

To Sam’s surprise, Ivan rose to his feet. “Get down!” Sam hissed. “They’ll spot you.”

And that they did.

“Sam, who’s this?” a voice asked as it drew closer. “Did you find yourself a little friend?”

The demons were approaching slowly, toying with him. Sam didn’t know what to do. He was too far away from the bunker to make a run for it, but he had no weapons on him, and he was hurt. Fighting wasn’t his best option. 

The sound of many feet crushing leaves and twigs was getting closer, coming from behind him. He’d have to move or soon they’d be right on top of him.

“Ivan, you see that tree a few feet from us? On my signal run to the one directly beside it. You’ll have to cover more ground, but the demons can’t kill you like they can with me.”

Ivan nodded, and then Sam said, “Now!”

They took off running. Breathing was painful, and there was something pressing dangerously against his left lung; he figured it was his broken rib. 

This was taking them away from the bunker, but by now the demons had most likely set up a defensive position there to keep him from getting to safety.

After making a few desperate dashes from tree to tree in order to put more ground between him and the demons, Sam took out his phone to text Dean. _**DEMONS.**_

Thankfully he got a reply instantly, _**How many?**_

Sam carefully looked around the tree. The demons weren’t moving now. All of them were standing in front of the bunker entrance in a column of two – ten watching the entrance, and the other ten looking out into the woods.

Since they weren’t moving towards him Sam gave himself the chance to take a deep breath. And then he responded, _**20**_. 

“What are you doing?” Ivan asked from the next tree over.

“Texting Dean.”

“If you drag him into this he won’t even have a chance to fight. I can help you, Sam. I still have enough power left to take them on.”

Sam looked to him. “Why would you want to help me?”

“I don’t like demons any more than you do,” he answered.

Sam’s phone buzzed as he got another text from Dean. _**Hang tight. I’m coming.**_

The stone of fear that had settled in Sam’s stomach instantly grew heavier when he read those words. He texted back, nearly in a panic, _**Don’t! They’ll kill u!**_

There was no response.

_**DEAN!** _

_**DON’T DO IT!** ___

__Still no response._ _

__“Fuck,” Sam breathed. “Ivan, can you shapeshift when you’re injured?”_ _

__He looked to him, and he nodded his head._ _

__With his next words he did his best to focus and send the command through the amulet. “I want you back in your true form. When I send the order I want you to charge at those demons and slow down as many as you can.”_ _

__“What about you?”_ _

__“I’ll be right behind you.”_ _

__Sam’s heart was thundering so fiercely he could hear the blood rushing, and despite the cold air, sweat was beading on his forehead._ _

__Then he heard something. It might’ve been the bunker door opening. He didn’t know._ _

__Yep, it’d definitely been that because next he heard Dean say, “Sam told me we had visitors, so I thought I’d come and say hi.”_ _

__That was when the gunshots started._ _

__“Ivan, now!” Sam shouted._ _

__Without checking to see if the command was being followed he took off running, heading straight for the horde of demons. Granted, doing such a thing was dangerous since Dean was firing in his direction, but his brother was a good shot and he trusted him._ _

__Now that he was traversing the distance he’d put between himself and the demons in order to help Dean, it seemed quite large. Thoughts raced through his head about what could happen if he didn’t make it in time._ _

__There was a shaking on the ground behind him, and Sam smiled. The Deathless One had listened to him._ _

__Thanks to the shotgun shells packed with salt, Dean was keeping the demons thoroughly distracted, and it was slowing them down._ _

__The barrage of gunshots stopped as Dean ran out of bullets. Rather than reloading he tossed the gun aside and pulled out the handgun he’d brought with him._ _

__Then, Dean stopped, looking up, just as Sam burst through the now-chaotic mass of demons to get to his brother’s side. His eyes were wide, and Sam turned, seeing what he was looking at.__

____

____

__It was the Deathless One. Dean had never seen him before, and Sam could see the fear in his eyes._ _

__“Holy…”_ _

__The demons too had paused to take in the massive form charging right at them._ _

__“Sam, we gotta go,” Dean said. And when Sam didn’t move, he shouted, “Now!”_ _

__There wasn’t time to explain what was going on, so Sam closed his eyes, doing his best to focus. He trusted that if any of the demons remembered that the Winchesters were behind them that Dean would protect him._ _

__He sent a command through the amulet, and then opened his eyes to see if it had worked. Just as he’d wanted, when the Deathless One reached the demons he swept out his arm, sending a handful of them flying through the air._ _

__“Wait, is that… is that the Deathless One?” Dean asked._ _

__Sam nodded his head._ _

__“Well, holy shit!” his brother exclaimed._ _

__Then, Sam heard one of the demons call out, “What do we do?”_ _

__Another one answered, “We hold. Vadrach will kill us if we retreat.”_ _

__“Who gives a damn about Vadrach?” another one shouted. “This thing will kill us before he even has a chance to lay a finger on us.”_ _

__Dean and Sam shared puzzled looks._ _

___Who the hell is Vadrach?_ _ _

__His older brother shrugged, tossed him an extra shotgun he’d had slung over his shoulder, and then started firing again._ _

__Some of the demons turned on them, and others broke out in a run, trying to escape the hunters and the monstrous creature before them. But they were closed off._ _

__Given the pain he was in and the fact that he was now focusing on shooting he wasn’t able to give the Deathless One any direct commands, so now he just stood there, an immovable mass._ _

__Luckily, he still had him firmly under his control. Even he didn’t Sam knew that the Deathless One wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, and his brother._ _

__Demons dropped to the ground, hissing in pain as bullets pierced their skin and the salt entered their bloodstream. However, whenever they shot some down the others would just get back up. It was a continuous cycle, and Sam and Dean found themselves being forced back._ _

__Realizing his mistake about not giving the Deathless One a command, but not wanting to pause in the middle of the fight, Sam was actually relieved when he ran out of bullets._ _

__Quickly, he sent a command for the Deathless One to attack them. There wasn’t much he could do granted that the demons wouldn’t die, and Sam didn’t want to risk having the Deathless One use his powers at the moment. That would weaken him as the powers would shift to Sam, and that was the last thing they needed._ _

__The Deathless One started swinging its fists, sending demons crashing into each other. One of them tried escaping, and Sam quickly made his slave aware of it. The massive creature turned, and simply shoved it back into the chaos._ _

__“I’m all out!” Dean called before turning to Sam with a panicked expression._ _

__“He’ll hold them off. Let’s get into the bunker and figure out what our next moves are.”_ _

___After Dean and I get into the bunker you can come in behind us,_ Sam sent through the amulet._ _

__He felt a subtle shift in the Deathless One’s energy, and knew the command would be followed._ _

__Dean grabbed his arm. “Come on, let’s go!”_ _

__As Sam and Dean took off running there was a sound behind him, quickly getting closer._ _

___Whump-whump-whump-whump…_ _ _

__Burning pain attacked his nerves at the same time the noise stopped. He fell to the ground as he let out a cry._ _

__“Sam? Sam!”_ _

__The knife that had been thrown lay on the ground near him, meaning it hadn’t imbedded in his flesh. It’d simply whizzed past and had managed to clip him in the process. There was now a slash in his left leg, just below his knee. His jeans were already soaking up the blood._ _

__Dean helped him to his feet, and they limped towards the bunker entrance._ _

__Then, they made it inside. Right before the door closed, the Deathless One rushed in, now looking rather human and very naked._ _

__“Oh god!” Dean exclaimed. “No one told me there was gonna be nudity.”_ _

__Dean started helping Sam down the stairs, ignoring Ivan’s distinct lack of clothes. Still, Sam could sense how bothered his brother was by it._ _

__Despite the pain in his body Sam was able to send a command to Ivan. The other man started walking away and Dean averted his eyes with a look of disgust._ _

__“Where’s _he_ going?!” he asked in alarm._ _

__“Sam sent me directions to his room, and let me know what clothes I can borrow.”_ _

__“Shut up!” Dean told him._ _

__Ivan shrugged his shoulders before turning into one of the hallways and disappearing from view._ _

__“Here, sit down so I can look at you.” Dean helped him into a seat, and then started rolling up his pant leg._ _

__“It’s not that bad, Sammy,” he told him. “Just put some pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”_ _

__Just then, there was a flash of light, and Sam and Dean both turned to see Castiel and Rowena appear in the bunker._ _

__There was a knife embedded in Rowena just above her left hip. She looked down at it, and calmly said, “Oh, would you look at that.”_ _

__Her knees gave out, and Cas caught her, lowering her to the ground. Dean rushed over._ _

__“How the hell did you get here? Where have you been? What happened? Why is Rowena with you?”_ _

__From his spot in the chair Sam could easily see the glare Castiel directed at his brother for asking so many questions._ _

__There wasn’t a single spot of blood on Rowena’s dress from her injury, the pressure of the angel blade in her keeping it from seeping out. The poor woman was shaking from the pain and her already pale skin was now ashen._ _

__Sam wasn’t sure why, but he forced his way up out of the chair and went to Rowena’s side. She smiled at him when she saw him._ _

__“Samuel. You don’t look well.”_ _

__“Neither do you.”_ _

__She started laughing, but then seized up when it sent burning and throbbing flares of agony through her body._ _

__“What do we do?” Dean asked._ _

__“Remove the angel blade,” Castiel said. “I can’t heal her while it’s still in her.”_ _

__Whimpering noises left the redheaded witch and she grabbed hold of Sam’s hand. Sam let her do it, and he idly wondered if she was even aware of the action._ _

__Castiel held her steady, Dean gripped the blade, and Rowena’s grasp on Sam’s hand strengthened._ _

__“On three,” his brother said._ _

__Rowena nodded._ _

__“One,” he said, and then promptly pulled the blade from her body._ _

__Her back arched in pain, and a scream left her._ _

__“Here, hold her,” Castiel said, gesturing for Dean to take his place._ _

__Quickly, the two of them swapped positions and Castiel pressed both his hands against her, one on the entry wound and the other over the exit wound._ _

__There was a small golden glow, and then blood started running over Cas’ hands._ _

__“Why isn’t it working?” he growled out._ _

__He tried again, and this time the glow was even fainter._ _

__Rowena was looking at Sam, and her eyes seemed to be losing focus._ _

__“Guys, I think we’re losing her,” Sam warned them._ _

__He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of losing her frightened him. Maybe it was because she’d helped him and Dean out from time to time, and he didn’t have many friends. He didn’t count her as that, but there weren’t that many people in his life, and Sam didn’t want there to be any less._ _

__Rowena’s eyes slid closed, her hand fell limply from Sam’s, and she went still._ _


	18. It's a Long Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel fill each other in on the events of the last few days and try to think about what their next move is.

A heavy silence fell upon all of them. Sam was the only one brave enough to break it. “Is she dead?”

Dean put two fingers to the pulse point at her neck, waited a few seconds, and then said, “No.” Before Sam could breathe a sigh of relief he continued, “But I think she’s gone into shock, and she’s losing a lot of blood.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, his low voice grim. “This is where she’s going to die.”

Sam lifted up his head and looked to his friend. “What?”

The angel had still been trying to heal Rowena, but without it working he removed his hands from her. They were blood-soaked, and the red liquid was dripping off of them, onto her dress or to the puddle on the floor that was growing larger. 

“She’s too far-gone,” Dean explained. “There’s nothing we can do to help her.”

The three of them sat around her, not quite sure what to feel, as a few more seconds passed and she met the end of her life. 

As Dean gently laid her body down on the floor Castiel let out a heavy sigh. “This is all my fault.”

“Cas, I’m sure it’s not your fault,” Dean told him. “These things happen.”

“But I wasn’t able to heal her.”

Sam picked up the angel blade that lay beside him and said, “So I assume this isn’t yours, then.”

Castiel took it from him. “It’s mine, but I wasn’t the one who stabbed her. How we got here is a _very_ long story.”

“Well, since those demons outside aren’t going anywhere,” Dean began as he got to his feet, “we’ve got time.”

He helped Sam stand up and got him back into the chair. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I mean it.”

Sam nodded his head, and then Dean left to go get the first aid kit. 

It was nice to see Castiel again, despite the circumstances, but Sam didn’t have anything to say to him. The past few days seemed to have caught up with him, and with all the chaos of the last hour, he was reduced to the pain in his body and the strange numbness that had taken over his mind.

Some time after Dean got back and was taking care of the wound on his leg, Ivan shambled into the room, looking childlike in Sam’s large clothes. 

Castiel was instantly on his feet, his angel blade in his hand. “Who are you?”

“Cas, don’t talk to him,” Dean said.

Ivan looked rather insulted at being threatened, but said nothing as he took a seat across from Sam. Their eyes met, and then Sam sighed. 

“Cas, meet Ivan… my… slave.”

Sam hated that word, and with it being in relation to him like that he hated it even more, but it was true, the being that sat across from him was his slave. His rather rebellious slave, but a slave nonetheless.

“Your what?” Castiel asked, voice raised in astonishment.

Dean had just finished stitching up the wound on his leg, so he asked Sam, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

As an answer he started unbuttoning his shirt and then shrugged his left arm out, letting Dean see his discolored side, which was now slightly misshapen due to the broken rib being out of place.

Then Sam answered Cas, “That’s another long story.”

The angel frowned. “It seems we all have much to discuss.”

“Yeah.”

Sam winced when he felt Dean’s hand press against him, and he pulled back. 

“How’d this happen?” his brother asked.

“Ask him,” Sam retorted, tilting his head in Ivan’s direction. 

His brother looked to the small man sitting across the table and asked, his tone dangerous, “You did this?” Ivan nodded. “You son of a bitch, I swear to god once this is all over I’m gonna-“

“Dean, stop,” Sam pleaded tiredly. “There’s enough high tension for now. Just leave him alone.”

“You’re telling me you’re gonna let him get away with this?”

A harsh laugh left the youngest Winchester brother. “Trust me, he’s not. Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll deal with him.”

His brother gave Ivan one last glare and then set his attention back to his broken rib. 

“Sammy, I can’t fix this. It’s pretty bad.”

Sam sighed. “I figured. Probably gonna need surgery or something.”

“And we can’t get you to the hospital thanks to all those demons out there.”

“After I get some of my power back I can heal Sam just fine,” Cas informed them. “As for the demons outside, we’ll have to rest up before we can face them.”

It was difficult to think of just how dire their situation was with pain clouding his brain. And there was a deeper hurt, one he couldn’t make sense of. Was it grief? But why would he grieve Rowena’s death? He didn’t know. In the face of trying to figure that out thinking about the demons was actually easier.

“So what,” Sam began, “we’re under siege or something?”

“Seems that way.” Dean took a seat beside him and started rubbing at his forehead. “What a mess.”

Ivan raised his hand a little, the one that wasn’t hopelessly broken. The movement was surprisingly tentative when compared to the monster he had been outside. “I have one question,” he began. “Who’s the dead woman on the floor?”

“No one,” Sam answered, not in the mood for informing Ivan about Rowena.

At the same time Castiel said, “A friend.”

And from Dean: “Shut up.”

Ivan just widened his eyes and sat back in his chair. “Sorry I asked.”

Sam turned to his brother, an amused look on his face. “You know he only takes orders from me, right?”

“Give me the amulet and we’ll change that.”

Ivan started laughing and both brothers turned to him.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked.

Sam mentally asked him the same thing just to make sure he’d answer truthfully. “Sam is my master, Dean. Taking the amulet from him won’t change that. It’ll be useless in your hands.” He started laughing again. “I didn’t realize you were this stupid.”

“Great, so we have an immortal slave who thinks he’s a comedian, a dead witch, an angel who needs new batteries, a half-dead hunter, and a pissed off older brother,” Dean summed up. “This is just awesome.”

Castiel had been watching the exchange with squinted eyes, clearly in thought. 

“It’s you,” he said, his gaze directed at Ivan.

“Me?” he asked, not sure what the angel was referring to.

“You caused the energy surge a few nights ago,” Castiel surmised. “You’re the being that climbed out of the ground.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“And you’re in control of him?” Cas asked Sam.

“Mostly,” Sam answered. “I’m still learning.”

He was about to say more, but Dean interrupted him, “Okay, you know what? I’m gonna put Rowena’s body somewhere for now, clean the floor, and then cook up something to eat. I’m starving, and Sam, you haven’t eaten. Once that’s all taken care of, then we can talk.”

Castiel and Sam agreed, and Ivan admitted, “I _am_ hungry.”

“Then you’re staying that way,” Dean told him. “I’m not cooking for you.”

Ivan was about to say something, but Sam commanded, “Close your mouth. Don’t speak.”

Unable to go against him he just sat back, looking disgruntled. In fact, Sam was sure he was playing up how miserable he looked just to get some sympathy or at least pity. But even in his weakened state Sam felt nothing but hatred for him.

 

After everything was taken care of and Sam and Dean had eaten, they informed Castiel of the events of the past few days, and likewise, Cas filled them in on what he’d been up to. 

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Dean started, “Crowley’s not the King of Hell anymore?”

Castiel shook his head. “He might even be dead,” he added.

“So this Vadar-“

“Vadrach,” Sam and Cas corrected simultaneously.

“-Vadrach, whatever, took control, just like that?” Dean finished with a snap of his fingers. 

Sam turned to his brother. “I assume it wasn’t that easy. We’ve known for a bit that Hell has been a little on the unstable side.”

“Very unstable, actually,” Castiel said. “It seems it’s been that way since the Trials.”

Sam sighed. He knew that he’d screwed up Hell, probably beyond repair thanks to the Trials, and especially with the final one. Times like this he rather regretted not finishing them, but there was nothing he could do now. 

“Still, even after all the trouble we’ve caused, Crowley considers us his friends,” Castiel informed them.

“What? Did he say that?” Dean asked in surprise.

“Not in so many words, no, but he did say it. So if there’s any chance he’s still alive we have to save him, and possibly help him reclaim the throne.”

“Save Crowley and help him reclaim the throne?” Sam asked. “That’s nuts! I mean, we can’t even leave the bunker right now.”

The angel focused on him, his blue eyes determined. “I didn’t say it’d be easy.”

Sam wanted to argue more, but Dean began to speak, “Sam, maybe he’s right. I mean, with Vadrach as king we don’t know what he’ll do. At least when Crowley was the ruler he was somewhat predictable.”

“You’re right,” Sam conceded.

He wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure what bothered him about this so much. Maybe it just seemed like a lot to him when he still had Ivan to deal with. Granted, that was his problem and no one else’s, but adding more on top of it made everything seem so overwhelming. 

“I’m going to my room,” Sam eventually announced. He needed to get away from everyone in order to clear his head. “Ivan, just stay out of everyone’s way, and don’t go through any of our stuff.”

As Sam was limping his way out of the room Dean questioned, “If he pisses me off can I punch him?”

Without looking back he responded coldly, “Go ahead.”

 

It wasn’t until Sam left that Dean asked Castiel, “Do you mind going with him? With that rib out of place like that I don’t think being alone is a good idea. The last thing we need is Sam dying on us.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay with him.”

Cas got up to leave and as he did so Dean grabbed his arm. “Just don’t tell him I sent you.”

The angel squinted his eyes at him. “Why not?”

“He’ll be bothered by it.” Still not understanding, his friend tilted his head. “Okay, you know what, never mind. Tell him, don’t tell him – I don’t care. Just go make sure he’s okay.”

Dean let go of him and he went after Sam, which left him alone with the Deathless One. It was odd to think the small man sitting across from him was actually a monster. But he’d seen the massive creature he’d been outside, and he’d seen what he could do. For Sam’s sake he was going to try and be civil, though he could tell that Sam hated this creature as well, but he didn’t think his brother would appreciate it if he beat his slave. Dean nearly shuddered. It freaked him out to think that his brother had a slave. 

“So, Ivan,” Dean began, not really liking the way the name felt on his tongue, “what happened to your hand?” He gestured to the swollen and discolored hand that Ivan was now cradling against his chest.

“Sam broke it,” he stated simply without even a trace of anger in his voice.

“Good for him.”

“Why do you not like me, Dean?”

At that absolutely absurd question Dean burst out laughing. 

“Are you really asking me that?” he questioned. Ivan nodded his head, and Dean went on to say, “You know, that’s real funny coming from the guy who called me stupid earlier.” He leaned forward and then said, “I don’t just dislike you. I _hate_ you. You hurt my brother, and you put him into a screwed up situation all because you wanted a master. You’re sick, and pathetic, and if I could I’d gut you and watch you bleed out. I’ve come across a lot of lowly, scum of the earth sons of bitches in my time, but you take the cake.”

This was the first time Dean had really seen this being fazed. He was looking down at the table, a frown on his face.

Finally, he asked, “If you were me what would you do?”

“What?”

The Deathless One lifted up his head. “Imagine being asleep for centuries, experiencing nothing. And then, a touch comes and wakes you up, and that, along with a name, is all you now know. You can’t go back to sleep, there’s nothing to gain from remaining where you are, and you want to experience things again. So you find a way out, a way up. But imagine, the only thing you knew before going to sleep was slavery, nothing else. Freedom is a completely foreign concept to you. So you go towards what’s familiar, what’s comforting; you need a master, someone to control you. But you find out that master, that person, who awoke you, wants nothing to do with you. It hurt, Dean, when Sam didn’t want to control me, when the only thing I now knew wanted nothing to do with me. So put yourself in my place and ask yourself, what would you have done?”

Listening to all of that turned Dean’s stomach, and an ache began forming between his eyes. He couldn’t even imagine what any of that would feel like. The thought of yearning to be someone’s slave sickened him. The fact that subjugation was all the Deathless One knew sickened him. Belonging to someone else in the way he’d spoken of, wanting it, was simply something Dean couldn’t wrap his head around.

Instead of showing the Deathless One all of those feelings he just said, “I would’ve found a way to kill myself.”

Instantly, he responded with, “I’ve tried. Nothing works.”

The two of them locked gazes, and Dean found himself pitying the pathetic creature before him, though he tried not to. Yet, Sam taking away his powers was right. Dean didn’t like what all this was doing to his brother, but maybe, once his powers were gone the Deathless One would be free of this world.

Still, thinking of the screwed up situation his brother was in, and the pain he was feeling, it was difficult to not leap over the table and start trying to beat the life out of the immortal creature sitting before him.

Dean clenched his hands into fists and asked, “Why did you hurt Sam?”

“Because he was taking my powers from me,” he explained.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Without your powers wouldn’t you be able to be free?”

The Deathless One shrugged. “Maybe, but then I _know_ I’m going to Hell, and given all the drama going on down there I _really_ don’t want to go just yet.”

“Well too bad,” Dean told him, “’cause my brother’s gonna make sure you end up there. And I hope it’s sometime soon.”

The Deathless One settled for glaring at him, and that was enough to make Dean get up, grab an unopened bottle of scotch, and reclaim his seat with the intention of drinking the whole damn thing.

 

“Did Dean send you?” Sam asked of Castiel.

He was currently lying on his bed, and he’d only been alone for a few seconds before the angel walked in.

“Yes. Although, he told me not to tell you that.”

“Figures.”

“May I come in?”

Sam just closed his eyes. All he had wanted was some alone time. Guess that was too much to ask. Then again, it made sense that Dean would want Castiel with him. His rib was badly out of place, and if he breathed too deeply he could feel it pressing against his left lung.

“Yeah, have a seat,” he responded.

Given all the pain he was in, Sam wasn’t sure how he was conscious, but he wasn’t too happy about it. He was frightened about what was going on in Hell, furious and ashamed about the situation with Ivan, and sad about what had happened to Rowena. He just lay there, trying to sort through his emotions, and Castiel didn’t interrupt him. All he did was watch him to make sure he was okay.

Sam wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he spent it in physical and emotional agony. One second he thought maybe he was all right, and then the next everything was so overwhelming he wanted to scream. When that feeling reached its peak he became numb, but that only lasted a few seconds. The cycle was endless and tortuous, and every breath hurt.

Every once in awhile one thought cropped up, one he knew he couldn’t act on, one he wasn’t even sure he would want to act on. And this time, when it reformed in his mind, it reached out past his lips. “I want to die.”

In an instant his friend responded, “I know that’s how you feel now, but things will get better.”

Sam started to let out a harsh laugh, but winced, his body freezing, when it moved his rib the wrong way.

A sigh left him and he took in some shallow breaths. The pain was still there, making breathing difficult, and soon, without the ability to get enough air, he began to panic.

“Cas…” he gasped out as his breaths became more ragged.

The angel was by his side, opening up his shirt to look at his injury.

“Sam, you have to calm down,” Cas told him in a stern voice.

“I… can’t…”

It was all too much; the agony in his side, his bone pressing dangerously against his lung, his inability to get enough air. Sam’s vision began to swim and he felt lightheaded.

He closed his eyes, hoping that maybe he could slip into unconsciousness.

A hand against his side stopped that thought in its tracks. His body seized up as the physical contact made the pain worsen. Then, there was a burning and a deep soreness, and if he’d had the breath for it he would’ve let out a pained cry. Weakly, Sam opened his eyes and was met with a soft, golden glow. Cas was healing him! The bone shifted back into place, and new cells were created, reconnecting the two broken pieces like they’d been sewn back together.

Finally, Sam heaved in a large breath, and Castiel removed his hand from him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I can’t heal your other injuries.”

Sam shook his head, a smile on his face. Without the torment of a broken and dislocated rib things seemed a little better. It was a wonder what less pain and better breathing could do to make one not feel so miserable.

“It’s okay,” he told him. “Those I can deal with. But with my rib, you probably just saved my life. That’s a pretty big deal.”

Though his rib was better, his spine still ached from getting knocked into a tree, so a groan left him as he sat up.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. Light footsteps, clicks against the stone floor. Sam wasn’t even sure he was actually hearing them until a petite figure appeared in his doorway. The red curly hair and pale skin of the woman before him was unmistakable.

Sam really had no clue what was going on, and all he could do was stare in shock as Rowena crossed her arms and gave him a smile. “I’m back,” she announced.

“Wha- how?” Castiel asked incredulously. “We saw you die.”

The copious amount of blood coating Rowena’s dress didn’t negate that, but somehow, she was standing there, very much alive.

Rowena simply answered with, “It’s a long story.”


	19. At the Mercy of the False King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vadrach makes his first attempt at interrogating Crowley.

The former king of Hell was chained up and made to sit by the throne that had once been his. It was humiliating and incredibly frustrating, but Vadrach did have a sense of humor, he had to give him that much. Vadrach was lounging in the throne, a small smile on his face as he watched his followers clean up the mess in the room. There was quite a lot of blood that had to be mopped up, and Sanren’s body had to be taken care of.

Once he’d taken control and his fury had died down Vadrach hadn’t said a word to Crowley, but now he did, and it was not what he had expected to hear, “Sorry about your mother.”

“Beg pardon?”

Vadrach sighed and shifted in his seat. Of all things he seemed a little uncomfortable in the particular chair Crowley had chosen for the throne. 

“I meant to hit the angel,” he explained. “Knife throwing isn’t one of my strong suits. Earlier when I killed Sanren that was just luck.”

Crowley remained silent. He didn’t know what to say to that. For some reason his mind kept replaying the moment the angel blade had stabbed into Rowena. Based on where it’d struck her she was most likely dead. Over the years Crowley had imagined killing her many times, but now that she was actually dead he wasn’t happy about it. For the first few minutes he’d lied to himself that it was because he hadn’t killed her himself. But that wasn’t it. He wasn’t grieving per se, and if he was he would never admit to it, but he was certainly feeling something unexpected. Rowena and death just didn’t seem like two things that went together. She’d been around for ages, and now a simple angel blade thrown by someone with poor aim had been enough to end her life. His mother was powerful, so such an end wasn’t fitting. He’d always pictured something more grand, more bloody, something on her terms. Not quick and unexpected.

Vadrach continued talking, maybe just for the sake of hearing his own voice. However, he did seem intent on bringing Crowley even lower than he already was. “I hope you’re ready to say goodbye to this place, Crowley. Once I hear word from the demons I sent to kill Sam and Dean we’re all going back to Hell. No more of this ruling from Earth business. You know, I never quite understood why you did that. Do you not like Hell?”

A lie easily slipped past Crowley’s lips. “The screams from the tormented souls distracted me from my work.”

For some reason that amused the other demon, and Crowley looked up at him questioningly when he started laughing.

“Was that the only reason?” he asked him. “You were the king; I’m sure the problem could’ve been fixed.” Vadrach peered down at Crowley. “You know what I think? I think you hate what you used to rule over. You only wanted the power, nothing more.”

“How perceptive of you,” Crowley grumbled, shifting away from him as much as he could and jangling his chains in the process. 

“It’s a good thing I overthrew you,” Vadrach went on as if Crowley hadn’t even spoken. “Hell will thrive under my rule, because unlike you, I care about it.”

“Oh goodie, a demon with feelings.”

Vadrach laughed yet again. “You’re one to talk.”

At that Crowley firmly clamped his mouth shut. Vadrach had a point. Ever since the Trials he’d grown soft. It wasn’t exactly something that could be helped, but he was still angered by how much he’d changed. No wonder he’d been overthrown. 

In his current position, weak, powerless, he wished to direct his anger towards Vadrach, but he found that he simply couldn’t. The other demon had a point, and Crowley had to agree that maybe he would be a better ruler for Hell. Granted, part of his sanity seemed to be missing, but others could say the same about himself. So now, he directed his anger at Sam. It was Sam’s fault he’d changed and grown soft. Crowley’s more humanlike nature was one of the things that had led to his demise. 

To him it would’ve actually been a relief if Sam had finished the final Trial. He would’ve no longer had to struggle to retain his power, and he would’ve been able to fully enjoy human emotion again. Those moments in that old church were still crystal clear in his memory; the vulnerability, the longing for forgiveness. Those had been the most dreadful eight hours of his life, but right before Sam had been about to finish curing him, he’d felt alive, and he’d had hope that maybe, just maybe, he could change. And if he could change then it was possible the universe wasn’t as terrible a place as he had thought. He remembered looking up at Sam and asking, “ _Where do I start to even look for forgiveness?_ ” But then, Sam had failed, and as the angels fell from Heaven, reality came crashing down around him. The universe was a damned and horrid place. So he had scraped and clawed for power and he’d fought viciously to keep it, but now that had been taken from him. And Sam was the only person he had the strength to be angry with. He hated what Sam had done to him, what lowly, pathetic creature he’d turned him into. He hated how he’d hurt him, how he’d imprisoned him. 

Crowley wasn’t even sure if the hunter recognized it, but he’d almost singlehandedly overthrown him. That would’ve been an impressive feat, and on better days Crowley commended him for that. Whereas with Vadrach, he’d had inside help, that much was obvious. And that’s what made this so much worse. Demons that Crowley had led for years had turned their backs on him and were now content to let Vadrach walk all over him.

Being chained up next to the throne that had once been his wasn’t just humiliating; it was frustrating beyond belief. With all this pent up anger Crowley wanted to lash out, but he could scarcely move. Vadrach had even gone so far as to put a metal collar carved with Devil’s Traps around his neck. He sat there, growing more furious by the second. Having nothing to do with his bottled up rage just made it worse, made it keep growing.

Though he considered Sam his friend, well, in his own weird definition of the word, he now sat there and imagined all the ways he could make him scream. He wanted to rip the skin from his bones, slice him open, bleed him. Sam was nothing if not resilient, and Crowley, being a master torturer would be able to keep him alive through all of it. Oh, how he’d love that. And once he’d torn him apart and brought him to the brink of death, Crowley would force him to drink his blood, just so he could turn him into something he despised, just like he’d done to him. 

Just as he was imagining tearing out Sam’s fingernails in great detail (the screaming, swearing, blood, and all), he was broken from his thoughts when a rather battered-looking demon stumbled into the throne room. Her dark hair was in complete disarray and there were smudges of dirt on her face and ripped clothes.

Vadrach straightened, and Crowley instantly grew attentive.

“Are the Winchesters dead?”

“No, my lord.” 

Crowley lowered his head to hide a smile that grew on his face. Yes he’d been thinking of torturing Sam just a few seconds ago, but he wouldn’t really do that. It was just fun to think about. So finding out the Winchesters were still alive was a relief. Though they were human that didn’t stop them from being some of the most powerful and terrifying people Crowley had ever met. Hope flared in the former king. Some might call that hope ridiculous, but in the face of everything, Sam and Dean had gone through much worse, had stopped those more evil than the man now sitting on the throne of Hell. He didn’t know how they’d do it, but they’d slaughter the demons Vadrach had sent, and maybe, just maybe they would rescue him.

“Then what are you doing here?” Vadrach asked of the demon before him, his voice icy and calm.

“I thought you’d want a report on the situation. The Winchesters are holed up in that building, but that’s not all. They have something with them, some… creature. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It was monstrous.”

Crowley perked up at that.

“A monstrous creature,” Vadrach mused, clearly annoyed by the demon’s redundant and lackluster description. “Don’t they hunt things like that?”

The demon nodded.

“Describe it to me.”

Crowley and Vadrach listened intently as the creature was described to them, and truly, neither of them had ever heard of anything like it. However, this got Crowley thinking. Maybe he’d been wrong to not contact the Winchesters before. Perhaps what he’d been looking into was connected to them and this strange creature that was now with them.

When the demon finished Vadrach waved his hand and said, “You are dismissed.”

“There’s one more thing that may interest you.”

“Oh?”

“The younger Winchester, Sam, I couldn’t get a good look since we were being shot at and that creature was attacking us, but he seemed to be wearing some sort of amulet. It was glowing. I’m not sure what it is, but I thought I should mention it to you.”

“Thank you. Now, I want you to go back to the other demons and tell them to wait. The Winchesters can’t stay in there forever. They’ll have to come out eventually, and when they do I want you to kill them.”

“But, sir, this creature, it’s-“

Vadrach cut her off with a raised hand. “Are you telling me that twenty demons can’t deal with a single monster? _Take care of it._ ”

The demon bowed and then she was gone.

Sam. Why was it all about Sam yet again? Could Crowley ever escape him? Then again, when he wasn’t thoroughly pissed off he did quite like the moose. Heck, on his good days he was even on his bucket list. It was interesting that the demon had taken note of the amulet. Although Crowley hadn’t been part of the discussion the other day when the Winchesters had met with Rowena he remembered seeing Dean holding it, and he knew that it was connected to Sam in some way. Why the hell would Sam be wearing the goddamn thing if Rowena had said it would hurt him?  
Crowley now had so many questions he wanted to ask Sam, but he could hardly do that while imprisoned. And to make matters worse, Vadrach had taken his phone.

“Looks like we’ll be staying here for a while,” Vadrach eventually said. “I’ll return to Hell once the Winchesters are taken care of, but for now, I suppose this dingy place works as a base of operations. I guess that means I’ll have to actually put you somewhere.”

“Hopefully nowhere near you,” Crowley said. “You’re getting annoying.”

“I suspect you’ll be seeing plenty of me. I have many questions to ask you. But that can be dealt with later.”

A worm of fear grew in him; Vadrach was clearly considering torturing him. Then again, that might be entertaining. A laugh left Crowley, and Vadrach quickly turned to him, his eyes wide with shock.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked incredulously.

Crowley simply schooled himself, and responded with a secretive “you’ll see.”

At that Vadrach beckoned a demon over and ordered, “Take this treasonous piece of garbage to the dungeon.” He kicked Crowley as if to make it more obvious he was referring to him.

The demon hurriedly bowed, uttered a “yes, sire” that set Crowley’s teeth on edge, and then grabbed the end of his chain, yanking it none too gently.

Rebellion would gain him nothing so Crowley stood and left with him, standing up as straight as possible. Though he was no longer king he refused to let himself be further humiliated. He didn’t even spare Vadrach a glance. He wouldn’t see that demon as king, not now, and not ever.

Crowley was taken to the dungeon that lay beneath the fortress, and he was promptly chained to the wall in a sitting position, his hands above his head. Once that was done he was left utterly alone in the dark and damp room. 

Completely bored he began to whistle, but he soon grew tired of that. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. The blood had completely drained from Crowley’s hands leaving them painfully numb. But that was nothing compared to the tortures he’d endured before becoming a demon.

“Come on already!” Crowley yelled. “Get your lily-white arse in here, Vadrach! I’m bored and you promised me entertainment!”

His yells echoed around the large room, and then they dissipated, leaving him in silence once again. He leaned his head back against the rough, stone wall and let out a sigh.

“Vadrach!” he called again.

There was a squeal of a rusty-hinged metal door opening, and then someone was descending the steps to enter the dank hole he was in. The door that served as the only entrance and exit for the dungeon grated open. Vadrach closed it behind him and smiled.

“Got something you want to tell me?” he asked. 

“Finally, the false king shows himself.”

Instantly there was a flash of anger in Vadrach’s dark eyes. He breathed out through his nose in a huff of rage. After straightening his suit jacket he approached him and knelt down before him.

“Where were you three days ago?” he asked, getting straight to business.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

Vadrach ground his teeth together, but went on, “Three days ago, in the morning, you were gone. Why?”

“I went out for a lovely walk and a cup of tea,” Crowley lied.

That earned him a punch to the jaw that made his head whack into the wall behind him. The punch was to clearly say that he wasn’t messing around. Crowley had already known that, but what would an interrogation be if he couldn’t get a little fun out of it?

“Ow!” he exclaimed, turning back to Vadrach. He worked his jaw back and forth; thankfully nothing seemed to be broken. After the beating he’d gotten earlier in the day such a thing was actually surprising.

“Where were you?” he asked again, his voice simmering with barely controlled rage.

Crowley released a petulant sigh. “If you must know I was meeting with a certain redheaded skank, and some idiot hunters.”

Vadrach just nodded as if he had suspected such an answer. “And what happened? Anything interesting?”

He shrugged. “The usual. Dean complained, Sam whined, Rowena voiced her desire to kill me, and they all insulted me.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to get anything out of him about that Vadrach moved on. “Do you know about the amulet in Sam Winchester’s possession?”

“Maybe.”

He was punched again, this time in the stomach, and the air left him. Crowley was left gasping and coughing from the strong blow.

Vadrach leaned in closer, and Crowley could clearly see pent up rage just beneath the surface. His features were strained as he struggled to hold himself back. 

“ _Do you know about the amulet in Sam Winchester’s possession?_ ”

Rather than answer, Crowley kicked out, aiming at a point just below Vadrach’s right knee. The strength of it sent the demon toppling over, and he scrambled to a sitting position, spluttering with anger.

“That’s it,” Vadrach said.

That was all the warning Crowley got before he got a close-up view of the bloodied rings Vadrach wore on his right hand. The demon punched him three times in quick succession, reopening wounds that had started to heal and creating new ones.

Now, Crowley’s left eye was swollen shut and throbbed painfully.

“Are you done messing around?” Vadrach hissed.

“Are you done playing king?”

Maybe it would have been wise to keep his mouth shut, but passing up such an opportunity to insult him would’ve been torture in itself for Crowley. It was at that point that the interrogation stopped, and the beating continued.

Crowley knew that Vadrach would most likely get to more formal torture later, and he’d withstand that. Like he’d once told Sam and Dean, there was nothing that could be done to him that he hadn’t already done to himself every Friday night just for kicks. There’d been some exaggeration involved, but pain was bearable, and it would pass. With the hope that his friends would rescue him from this, Crowley could manage just fine. But for now, he was at the mercy of the false king.


	20. Impurity, Hope, and Damaging Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Castiel have a discussion about Sam's darkness.

Finding words to ask Rowena about what had happened was difficult. Sam was still staring at her in shock, just waiting for her to disappear. Maybe pain and stress was getting to him. He closed his eyes tightly, willing that reality would come back to him, but when he opened his eyes again she was still standing there. She seemed proud that her entrance had caught him so off guard.

“Rowena,” Castiel began, “there are a horde of demons outside the bunker and we’re trapped for the time being, so I’m sure you’ll find plenty of time to tell us how exactly you’re standing before us.”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”

“Cut the crap, Rowena,” Sam suddenly snapped, surprising even himself. “I’ve been through more than enough for one day, I don’t need your pathetic desire for drama making it even worse.”

“I’m sorry, Samuel, but if you haven’t noticed, I died today, so if anyone has been through more than enough it’s me.”

At that Sam stood, advancing on her. “I don’t care. Dying was obviously only temporary, so you’re gonna tell us how you’re here, or I’m gonna load a gun with witch-killing bullets and blow you away, and I’ll make sure that you stay dead. If you happen to come back to life again I’ll just chop you up into pieces and bury each piece under separate slabs of concrete.”

Rowena was staring at him with wide eyes filled with fear. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve done it to a Knight of Hell, don’t think I won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

Though he was previously sad about her loss, he felt betrayed, and he was incredibly angry. Some of the emotional torment he’d felt before had been completely unnecessary given that Rowena was very much alive. And he was sick of all the crap he’d been through recently, so Rowena not giving him a straight answer was something he didn’t have the patience for. Sam wasn’t sure if he would actually follow through with his threats or not and that frightened him, but hopefully it didn’t show.

There was a strong hand on Sam’s arm, and he turned, coming face to face with Castiel. The angel was studying him, his eyes squinted.

“What’s happened to you?” he asked. 

Sam pulled out of his grip and moved away. “Nothing.”

“No, something has happened.”

“Fine, then I’m just impatient and would rather be given straight answers.” 

At that last part he directed a look at Rowena that he hoped appeared threatening. It must have because the witch actually took a small step back from him. To his surprise Castiel grabbed him and turned him away from her.

“Forget Rowena for now.”

“Excuse me?” she exclaimed.

Castiel held up a hand as a warning for her to not say another word, but his eyes never left Sam’s.

“You know what I’m talking about, Sam. You’ve changed, and I bet you know why too. A few minutes ago I saved your life, so why don’t you just do me a favor and tell me what’s going on? I deserve that much. I admit it’s my fault I’ve been left out of the loop with what’s going on with you and Dean lately, but I’m here now, and I’m your friend, so tell me.”

Cas was right. Sam knew exactly what was going on with him. He’d already talked to Dean about it that morning, and he was nervous about what his brother might do if he continued on down a dark road, but that wasn’t what worried him about telling Cas. He was an angel, and he’d seen him dark before. He even remembered the time Castiel had called him an abomination. His brother being disappointed in him was one thing, but an angel, a being he had once had so much faith in, would be even worse. With Castiel not being there when all the trouble with the Deathless One had started Sam had actually been a little relieved he hadn’t had yet another person to explain himself to, but now it looked like he couldn’t escape it. And more than that, saying it yet again would make it all the more real. 

“It’s the amulet,” Sam began, looking down at the floor. “The power it’s giving me, the power I’m taking from the Deathless One, I… _like it_.” He looked up, fear in his eyes, but the angel didn’t seem to be judging him, not yet anyway. So Sam kept talking, hoping he’d cover some of the points Cas was thinking over. “I know I shouldn’t, but, I can’t help it, Cas. There’s just a part of me that’s _dark_ , and as much as I hate that I can’t pretend it’s not there. It’s affected my life to much, and maybe what’s happening is just showing me who I really am.”

“Do you really think that way about yourself?” Castiel asked.

Sam swallowed roughly and nodded. “I do. I’m impure. I always have been and I guess I always will be.”

“Then you’re wrong. I don’t care about that dark part of you, and I don’t care how that’s been exploited in the past, and I don’t care that you think of yourself as impure. You’re not this horrible, twisted being Sam. You’re _good_.” Sam shook his head. “You _are_ a good person, Sam. You save people, not because you have to, but because you want to. You care about them. You care about what happens to people, and the pain you’ve gone through, you do whatever you can to make sure others don’t suffer the same fate. Now tell me, does that sound like someone evil?”

“That’s only some of what I’ve done!” Sam exclaimed. “Look at all the other horrible things I’ve done! My powers, the demon blood, the apocalypse, not finishing the damn Trials.”

“Do not place all the blame for those things on yourself. You know you weren’t the only one responsible for all of that.” Though Castiel hadn’t raised his voice, it felt like he had; he’d spoken sternly and with conviction.

“So?” Sam asked. “No one seems to see it that way.”

“Well I do. You’ve been manipulated and used, and I know it hurts, Sam, but that at least means you’re not the only one to blame for all that’s happened.

“I’ve tried telling myself that,” Sam argued. “But the way I see it I’m the one constant in all that. When things are bad it _always_ seems to be my fault. So I’m tired of fighting, okay? I’m just… I’m tired, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t seem to have anything more to say; he just looked upon him with sad, blue eyes. 

The angel and the hunter had forgotten all about the witch that was in their presence, so they both jumped when Rowena spoke, “If it’s any consolation, being a villain isn’t all bad. It has its perks.”

Sam frowned at her. “Really? You think that’s helpful?”

She shrugged, and then informed them, “Since you two seem busy I’ll go say hi to Dean. Once you’re done being overdramatic then I can tell you how I’m alive.”

With Rowena belittling him like that Sam wanted to scream at her, and he even took a step to start going after her, but Castiel grabbed his arm. 

“Sam, just let it go. Yelling at her won’t do anything, you know how she is.”

He took a deep breath, and turned back to his friend. “So I should just let her talk to me like that? I mean, I’ve even let Dean talk to me like that, and look where it’s gotten me.”

His friend’s eyebrows furrowed together as he thought. Eventually he asked, “What do you mean?”

The energy he’d had suddenly left in a rush and Sam collapsed onto his bed, his head in his hands. His throat ached, and his eyes began to blur with unshed tears.

“No one ever seems to really care about what I’m going through,” Sam admitted quietly. “And Dean always finds a way to blame me for everything. Even all the crap with Ivan he seems to be making out to be my fault. It’s not, Cas,” he insisted. “It’s not.”

“I know it’s not.”

“But Dean doesn’t seem to. He thinks I want to be dark, or that enjoying power is my choice. It’s not my choice, it’s just part of who I am, and I don’t like it, I really don’t, but there’s nothing I can do. For once in my life I have a way to take control back, and yeah, it’s changing me, but I don’t care. I’ve been helpless so many times that what’s happening now, it’s worth it. I won’t let the Deathless One get away with forcing me into this position.”

Castiel let out a long sigh and sank down on the bed to sit next to him.

“Do you ever think that maybe falling prey to the darkness in you is something you do have control over? I know this is all very difficult for you, but to me it seems like either way the Deathless One wins.”

Sam looked to him. Truthfully, he’d never thought of it like that before, but now that his mind was focused on the subject, Castiel did seem to have a point. If he turned dark by consuming Ivan’s powers then he still wasn’t in control. That outcome would still be Ivan’s doing. 

“Then what I do?” he asked brokenly.

It was a while before Castiel answered, but when he did he seemed determined, “The way I see it, there’s only one thing we can do. We have to kill the Deathless One.”

“Kill the Deathless One? Are you crazy? I mean, he has the word ‘deathless’ in his name. I’m pretty sure if I went out there right now and filled him with bullets he’d just get back up.”

“Maybe it’s not about harming his body,” Castiel began. “Maybe it’s about harming his soul.”

When the Deathless One’s soul was mentioned he fingered the amulet he still wore around his neck.

“Is destroying a soul even possible?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, but-“

Sam interrupted him, already knowing where he was going with that thought, “It’s possible to hurt one.”

They both sat in silence for a bit, and Sam’s mind began wandering towards how he knew about the possibility of a soul being hurt. A shudder ran through him as he thought of all the atrocities he’d suffered in the Cage, all the things that Lucifer had done to him, how horribly his soul had been damaged. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that his soul was actually in one piece. Maybe there’d been some damage that Castiel had accidently left. But then again, the mind and the soul were separate, so even with his soul intact he supposed it made sense he still suffered from what he’d been through. 

One thought of the Cage was all it took for Sam to be dragged in a downward spiral. He sat there, unmoving, as he became lost in his mind, lost in the memories. There was so much blood, and screaming, and pain, and sheer terror. And he remembered how he’d begged for Lucifer to stop, but the Devil would always only seem amused by that. He remembered the shame, the humiliation, the way Lucifer had taunted him about every little thing he’d picked up while going through his head. And then there were the memories, the ones that Sam sometimes couldn’t decipher from reality. Lucifer had scoured through his mind against his will, had broken down all barriers, had destroyed any semblance of privacy. Whenever he came across a happy memory, one that seemed to amuse him, he’d twist it into a demented perversion of reality, confusing Sam, hurting him. He’d experienced many different forms of torture in the Cage; the physical torture that’d been doled out to him on a daily basis, the torture of missing Dean and the life he used to live, the torture of Lucifer degrading him and turning him into his pet, the torture of not knowing if he could even trust his own mind. Dean had experienced Hell, but Sam knew that his brother’s torture paled in comparison to his. No one could ever understand just how much he’d been forced to suffer through, and sometimes, in moments like these, Sam became buried in it, utterly lost – Lucifer had torn him apart; mind, body, and soul.

A gentle hand on his shoulder broke him from all the god awful memories he was reliving, and he jumped, turning to Castiel in shock. He’d been so far gone that he’d partially expected to see Lucifer’s cold, blue eyes staring back at him, but he was met with Castiel’s warm, friendly ones. 

He sniffled, and Sam wiped at his face with his sleeve. It came away wet with tears.

Castiel, always so perceptive, told him, “I’m sorry if my idea brought up some things you didn’t want to think about. That wasn’t my intention. I just want to help you.”

Sam sniffled again, and nodded. 

“I know,” he told him, his voice cracking. “I know.” He wiped his face again, and let out a long breath, trying to fully drag himself back to reality. “So this plan, do you think it could work?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.” He stood. “I’ll tell Dean. I’m guessing you need a few minutes…?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out there with you guys in a bit.”

Castiel nodded and then he was gone.

Sam lifted up the amulet, and he studied it, watching the soul inside as it seemed to swim lazily within the gem. Hopefully figuring out a way to destroy the Deathless One’s soul wouldn’t take much. Sam didn’t want to have to torture it. He hated Ivan with every fiber of his being, but he didn’t have the stomach for doing to someone else what Lucifer had done to him, if only a little bit. The idea brought up parts of Sam’s past he wanted to forget, but at the same time, it gave him some hope. Maybe he could avoid succumbing to the darkness within him, the impurity. Maybe, just maybe, they really would find a way to kill the Deathless One.


	21. Planning and Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Rowena discuss what to do about Ivan. Vadrach finds something interesting and attempts to ask Crowley about it.

When Rowena walked into the room, all Dean could do was stare. He knew he was already kind of drunk, but that didn’t mean he’d be hallucinating, and it was impossible that he’d been drugged.

“Well, are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to say something?” Rowena asked him.

Dean frowned at her. Was she actually alive? Was he just seeing things?

He didn’t know how to voice any of this, and the Deathless One opened his mouth first. “You’re immortal too?” he asked excitedly.

Rowena eyed him with mild curiosity, but responded, “No, dear. I’m just smart.”

Upon realizing that it really was Rowena standing in front of him Dean took a long sip from the bottle, not really registering the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat. She took a seat next to the Deathless One as if it was completely normal that she was breathing again.

“So how’d you manage it?” Dean asked.

“A spell I had put in place in case I died,” she answered. “Once my heart stops beating the spell takes some time to react, but then it heals what killed me, restarts my heart, and now, here I am.” She beamed at him, and as friendly as she seemed, the look made Dean feel uneasy.

“How’d you get here anyway?” he asked. “This place is warded against everything.”

“Not everything,” she responded. “There are a few teleportation spells in the Book of the Damned that are strong enough to get past the warding.”

“Ah, great,” Dean said sarcastically before taking another sip from the bottle.

Rowena frowned at him. “Are you going to drink all of that?”

“Yep.”

Castiel entered the war room, and Dean instantly perked up. “How’s Sam?” he asked.

“Physically he’s doing better. I managed to heal his rib.”

“Physically?” Dean questioned.

Rowena smiled in amusement as Castiel walked around the table and took a seat next to Dean.

“Oh, you don’t know?” she said. “Samuel’s a wee bit preoccupied with his dark side at the moment.”

Dean looked to Cas in alarm. “And you left him alone?”

“Don’t listen to her,” he responded. “Sam and I talked, he’s just taking some time to pull himself together, that’s all. He’s been through a lot lately, and it’s bringing up some things that I think he pushed down.”

“Things like?”

Castiel was silent for a moment, but then he answered, “It’s not really my place to say.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and continued drinking. This was going to be a long day.

 

Once Sam managed to get his emotions under control he went back into the war room. Dean and Castiel were talking to each other quietly, and the bottle of scotch nearby didn’t go unnoticed. Across from them Ivan seemed to be amusing Rowena. He’d say something and then she’d burst out laughing, leaning towards Ivan as she did so. It looked to Sam like they were flirting, which was disturbing to say the least.

“Did I miss something?” Sam asked the two of them.

Everyone turned to him once he’d spoken, and Rowena responded, “Ivan here is quite the catch.”

_Well that’s… weird,_ Sam thought. He looked Ivan over as he sat down next to Dean. _What the hell does she see in him?_

“Oh, he is, is he?”

Ivan shrugged. “I may be your slave, but I still have a way with the ladies.”

Sam looked away from him, disgust written all over his face, and Dean, dramatic as ever, actually made a gagging sound.

“Great, well now you’re here,” his brother said to him, “maybe you could order him to stop being so… creepy.”

“Creepy?” Ivan asked incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s creepy seeing you flirt with her.” Dean took a sip from the bottle and then muttered, “God only knows what the age gap is.”

Sam sighed. He really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with any of this right now. “Look, Ivan, quit flirting with Rowena.”

At that the redheaded witch burst out laughing and Sam shot her a questioning look. 

When she stopped laughing Rowena explained, “What? I’m stuck in a bunker with a bunch of men and the scrawny one is the only one brave enough to show interest in me.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Ivan looked rather offended. This was stupid. Why did he have to deal with this? Thankfully, Castiel was the one to put an end to it.

“Rowena, now that Sam’s here why don’t you explain how you’re alive.”

She opened her mouth to do just that, but Dean interrupted her, “She had a spell in place. I’m guessing she’s got a lot of enemies and figured one day one of them would catch up to her. Bet you didn’t think an angel blade would be what got you.”

Sam was surprised by how simple the explanation was, and Rowena had clearly told Dean. Why hadn’t she told him straight out? Did she actually enjoy getting on his nerves?

Rowena appeared put-off by Dean answering for her; she crossed her arms and raised her chin. “It doesn’t matter how I died. I’m here now.”

“Yay us,” his brother mumbled sarcastically.

Sam noticed that he was about to lift the bottle of scotch to his lips again, so he snatched it away from him. 

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed.

He placed it out of his reach as he responded, “We need you sober so we can figure out what to do about the demons outside.”

Rowena promptly asked, “There are demons outside?” Then, her slightly startled expression turned into one of amusement. When she next spoke her voice was teasing. “What did you do?”

Sam let out an exasperated huff before answering, “Nothing. Not yet anyway. Look, we can’t just let them keep us in here we have to come up with a plan.”

“I’m not sure we should do anything just yet,” Castiel said. “My powers aren’t at their full capacity, and Sam, you still need to heal.”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Castiel just gave him a pointed look, and so did Dean. They clearly weren’t buying what he was saying.

Sam backtracked. “Okay, so I’m not fine, but I don’t like waiting around for something to happen.”

“You could send me out,” Ivan suggested. “I’ll admit, I don’t really want to use my powers seeing as they’ll end up siphoning to you, but what choice do we have?”

Sam thought back on his conversation with Castiel. He still wanted Ivan’s powers, and he told himself it was because then he’d be free, but he knew part of him wanted them for darker purposes. But he knew he couldn’t put Dean and Cas through that, it would be unfair to them. However, Ivan did have a point. What other option did they have?

“I don’t know,” he said uncertainly.

“Let him do it,” Dean urged. “I mean, he’ll lose some of his powers, _and_ get rid of the demons. The way I see it it’s a win-win.”

Sam was unable to respond. Dean was right, but was it worth risking who he was? Sam just didn’t know anymore. His conversation with Castiel had confused him even more. Before, he thought he knew what he was going to do, but now, nothing was really making sense to him. Maybe all his options were bad ones. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, waiting for him to say something.

Thankfully, Castiel cut in, “Dean, maybe we should wait.”

“Why?”

“Yes, I’d like to know that too,” Rowena added, placing her elbows on the table so she could rest her chin in her hands.

Sam swallowed nervously. He had a feeling that Castiel wanted to discuss the plan he’d come up with. It was a good plan, but one Sam wasn’t comfortable with. 

He looked to Castiel, and when he saw only determination in the angel’s eyes Sam relented, nodding his head. Then, Castiel looked at Ivan and then back at Sam, a pointed expression on his face.

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, Ivan, go wait in the kitchen until I say you can come back.”

Ivan’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Sam ordered, raising his voice.

His slave lowered his head in submission and then he headed off towards the kitchen, following the directions that Sam sent him through the amulet. With him out of the room it felt like Sam could breathe more easily, and he straightened, inhaling deeply.

“What’s this about?” Dean asked. 

“Ivan,” Sam answered. At that Dean gave him a look of displeasure, so Sam corrected himself, “The Deathless One. Castiel thinks we might have a way to kill him.”

“Harming his body won’t work,” Castiel explained. “Whatever makes him immortal may have to do with his soul. Unfortunately for Sam we know that souls can be damaged, so it might be possible to destroy one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Rowena informed them. “I’ve never heard of anything that can destroy a soul.”

“So what? We can still try. It’s better than you going dark side, right Sam?” At that question Dean turned to him, and Sam lowered his head.

Castiel’s idea was a good one, but if it didn’t work, then they’d just end up torturing the Deathless One’s soul. Sam would give anything not to have that happen. He didn’t want to put anyone through even a bit of what he’d gone through in the Cage, it didn’t matter who they were or what they’d done to him. Sam wouldn’t like to witness someone being hurt like that either. To him, souls were a very… sensitive topic.

He knew his brother was expecting an answer, so he said, “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“You suppose so?” Dean asked rather loudly. “What, do you wanna go dark? Don’t tell me you’re buying the whole ‘come to the dark side, we have cookies’ crap.”

Sam looked up from the table and met his gaze. “No, of course not! I’m just nervous about this, is all. I know firsthand that having a damaged soul is painful, to say the least.

“Right. Sorry.”

He didn’t care that his brother was supposedly sorry. He could tell by the way he looked away that he didn’t completely believe Sam about that, that he still had his doubts about him.

“Whatever,” Sam snapped before addressing Cas. “So how do we do this?”

“I’ll need the amulet.”

At those words Sam clutched the amulet protectively in one hand, a spark of fear shooting through him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. When I’m not in possession of it I can’t control Ivan.”

“I’ll take care of Ivan,” Rowena stated, “and you can work on killing him.”

Dean turned a bewildered gaze on her. “Why would you want to help us?”

“Come now, Dean, I’m not always a bad person.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that,” he scoffed. 

“Think what you like,” she told them while standing. “If that’s all, I’ll go keep Ivan occupied.”

Sam looked to her questioningly, not sure what she meant by that, and he got a sly smile in return. Then, she left the room. Once she was gone he looked down at the amulet. Reluctantly, he took it off and passed it over to Castiel, his gaze locked onto it. 

The angel took it from him, only touching the iron of the chain. “Thank you,” he said. 

With those two words he conveyed that he understood how difficult this was for him. And Dean seemed to finally be realizing it too. He looked to him with a rather vulnerable expression on his face, as if he’d just realized his brother was hurting. 

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something to him, maybe an apology, but Castiel said, “Now, let’s get to work.”

 

The throne room was nearly clean, just a few more spots of blood that had to be scrubbed away. Sanren’s body had been taken care of a while ago; it’d been carelessly tossed into the woods.

_Good riddance,_ Vadrach thought. _I’ll never have to see that traitor’s face again._

He watched all this, and even though he was now the King of Hell he was in a sour mood. The chair Crowley had chosen as the throne was uncomfortable, and Crowley himself was a nuisance who really didn’t seem to like cooperating. As Vadrach thought of Crowley he looked at his knuckles where the former king’s blood stained his skin. He hadn’t bothered to clean up after beating him earlier; having his blood on him, evidence of his suffering, was rather enjoyable.

One of his demons came up to him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. He supposed it wasn’t important. He now had many subjects to rule, so what did one demon matter to him?

She bowed before saying, “Sire, I found something on the floor, I thought you might want to have a look at it.”

He straightened in the throne – an action that made him ache slightly – and then he motioned for her to give whatever it was to him. She handed over a silver ring made of the three bands that intertwined like a braid. It looked familiar to him. He held it up to the candlelight, studying it. Then it came to him.

“If I recall, I saw Crowley’s mother wearing this. Do you know what it does?”

“No, my lord,” she responded quickly. “If you wish I could look into it.”

“That won’t be necessary. I know just who to ask about this.”

Vadrach dismissed her, ordered that the cleaning of the throne room be complete when he got back, and then left, making his way down to the dungeon. When he entered the dark room, Crowley was just as he left him, bloody and beaten, chained to the wall. However, he didn’t look as broken as he had hoped. The former king contained more resilience than he’d first thought.

“Hello, Crowley,” he greeted, approaching him slowly.

“Is the crown boring you already?”

Vadrach ignored his annoying question and simply informed him, “I have something to ask you.”

“All these questions…” Crowley mused. “You know, if you actually used your head I think you could figure them out on your own. Then again, you never really were that bright.”

His displeasure instantly flared into a white-hot rage due to Crowley’s comment and he grabbed the other demon by the collar of his shirt, his eyes flicking black for a few seconds. Crowley just stared at him, seemingly unimpressed. Realizing that lashing out again would get him nowhere, Vadrach released him, a frustrated growl coming from his throat. After a deep breath he took out the ring, showing it to him.

Crowley feigned excited surprise. “A ring? What’s this, are you proposing?”

Vadrach ground his teeth together before informing him in a clipped tone, “Your mother was wearing it. It must have fallen off during the fight. I want to know what its purpose is.”

“Obviously to be worn as an accessory. Now, would that be all? I’m rather busy at the moment. I haven’t finished thinking of all the ways I’m going to torture you before I slit your throat.”

And yet again, heat began to build up in him, but he fought it down and gave Crowley a forced smile.

“Funny.”

The smug look on the other demon’s face got the better of him, and he lashed out, punching him in the face. He watched in satisfaction as the former king’s head flew back and whacked into the rough stone wall, a grunt of pain leaving him.

“What’s the purpose of this ring?” he reiterated.

Crowley slowly brought his gaze back to his, a dangerous light in his eyes.

“I have no idea,” he answered.

Vadrach had been stooping over Crowley before, but now he crouched down to get on his level. 

He peered at him, trying to discern if he was speaking the truth. Vadrach really couldn’t tell, so he asked, “And why should I believe you?”

Instantly, Crowley responded, “If you don’t believe that, then why believe anything I say? Seriously, Vadrach, this is all rather pointless. I don’t know what the ring does, and I really don’t feel like answering any of your questions. Besides, what’s so important about any of this? What I did in the last few days of my reign has nothing to do with yours.”

“I just want to make sure there won’t be any nasty surprises for me later on down the road.”

“Well, if there are, they certainly won’t come from me.” As if to get his point across Crowley shook his hands, rattling the chains. Maybe he was right. It was ridiculous being worried about someone he had locked up. “Now, if that’s all,” Crowley continued, “I’d rather like to get back to my fantasies, thank you very much.”

An angry growl left him, but he realized that yet again he wouldn’t be able to get Crowley to talk, so he straightened, and then left. Vadrach was really going to have to take the time to get to formal torture. Crowley just didn’t want to cooperate, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make him do so. Already, plans were beginning to form in his mind.

 

Ivan sat alone at the table in the kitchen, cradling his broken hand to his chest. He wondered what Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Rowena were discussing. Clearly something to do with him, and that made him uncomfortable. It irked him that Sam had control over him. Yes, he’d wanted it at first, but that was before Sam had begun to take his powers. It just wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

_Maybe I could trick him into giving the amulet to someone else for a while, that way I can kill him._

The idea was a pleasant one, but it soon led to a thought that he found rather unsettling.

_But after that, what do I do? Where do I go?_

Ivan couldn’t even remember ever being his own person. What was it like to live with freedom? How did one manage? Would he even find a purpose in life without a master? If he wasn’t meant to serve, then what else was he meant for? Would his life have any meaning?

He truly didn’t know what to do. Part of him still liked Sam and felt the need to serve him, but another part just wanted to crush his skull. 

Rowena sitting herself down across from him drew him from his confusing and tangled thoughts. She looked to his hand, and then told him, “I could fix that for you if you’d like.”

Ivan lifted his head up, genuinely surprised. It wasn’t often that people wanted to do something nice for him, and the pain was terrible, throbbing and aching. 

“Really?”

She nodded and then gestured for him to hold out his hand. Once he’d done so, she placed a hand over his and he winced, nearly drawing back. Rowena said a simple incantation, her focus on his injury, and then there were cracking and popping sounds as his bones were put back in place. Ivan squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. There was an odd tickling sensation that was nearly painful, and then, his hand was healed, the agony of the injury completely gone.

She let go of him, and he twisted his hand about, moving his fingers, and opening and closing it in a fist in order to check if he truly was healed. There was absolutely no pain, and no discomfort, and he smiled at her.

“Thank you.”

Rowena waved a hand at him. “Save the gratitude for what I’m about to tell you.”

Ivan leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What’s this about?”

“Right now, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are discussing how to kill you.”

A smirk turned his lips upward. “That won’t work.”

“It might. They plan on using your soul.”

Panic nearly surged up in him from her words. From what he could recall no one had tried that before. They’d always gone for harming his body. Was it possible? Could they kill him through the use of his soul? Ivan realized he didn’t have the answer to that and it was frightening.

“Oh,” he uttered, not really sure what else he could say to that.

What Rowena said next surprised him. “I, for my own reasons that I won’t disclose, don’t want that to happen.”

He peered at her curiously. “And you’re telling me this because…”

“So you could do something about it.”

“Do what?” he snapped. “Sam is my master. I can’t disobey him.”

The redhead gave him a secretive smile before saying, “Something tells me that he isn’t in possession of the amulet right now.”

Catching on to what she had in mind, Ivan found himself smiling as well.


	22. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deathless One takes advantage of Sam not currently being in possession of the amulet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this out. I've been having issues with my mental illnesses lately, so finding motivation was rather difficult. As for the other things I posted while I neglected to update this story, those - for the most part - had already been written for a while, but I hadn't gotten around to posting them yet.

Anxiety had Sam’s muscles wound up tight, which didn’t do the cut on his leg any good. He leaned over the table in an attempt to get a better view at what Castiel was doing. So far he was still studying the amulet, his eyes squinted slightly in concentration.

“Interesting,” he commented.

Instantly, Sam asked, “What? What is it?”

He didn’t look up from the amulet as he stated, “You told me the Deathless One wasn’t human.”

“He’s not.”

“Not according to his soul.”

“So he lied to me?” Sam questioned.

Cas had already returned to studying the soul within the gem as he explained, “Not necessarily. This soul is nearly one thousand years old; human souls just aren’t created to be on Earth for such a long time. If I had to guess, there’s a lot of black magic tethered to it, which is the reason it’s been so well-preserved this whole time.”

“And also the reason for his immortality,” Dean added.

Castiel nodded and continued, “As an angel, I can remember the creation of the Earth in precise detail.” Sam and Dean looked dumbfounded at this new information, but Cas just forged on, “But a human memory is far less powerful. Even the two of you have memories that are not in stark detail, somewhat forgotten.”

Sam frowned as he thought. “So what you’re saying is that the Deathless One is human, he just can’t remember it.”

“Precisely.”

There were a few seconds of silence as they took in that information and then Dean said, “I still want to kill him.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed. “So, Cas, anything else you can figure out about that?”

The angel placed the amulet on the table and continued to study it. “I may need some time with it. There are layers upon layers of different magic at work here. I’m not sure I can even touch his soul.”

Then, something occurred to Sam. He wasn’t totally sure what it was yet, but Castiel mentioning how much magic was tethered to that one soul made him think that something was amiss. But what was it?

“Too bad Rowena couldn’t make anything of it,” Dean commented.

That was it! Why was it, that Rowena, the most powerful witch he knew, and possibly the most powerful in the world, couldn’t make heads or tails of the amulet? She even had the Book of the Damned at her disposal. So that meant only one thing. She’d lied to them. Sam could see no reason for her to do that, meaning that she must have her own personal agenda, meaning that he couldn’t trust her one bit, not even to be around Ivan when he didn’t have the amulet.

His stomach dropped to his feet as that realization swept over.

Abruptly, he stood, his chair clattering to the floor with how quickly he’d risen. Castiel and Dean gave him surprised looks.

“Castiel, give me the amulet,” he said quickly, his eyes glued to the hallway that led to the kitchen. His pulse was racing wildly. When the angel still didn’t give it to him he held out his hand. “ _Cas_.”

“What’s going on?” Dean asked him.

Sam chanced taking his eyes off the hallway to look at the angel, and his brother. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. 

They both looked at him skeptically, and Sam swallowed roughly. He could see distrust in their eyes. 

“I want to trust you,” Cas began, “but, Sam, please just tell us what’s going on. I don’t want to give this to you until I know you won’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Sam clenched his jaw. Words hadn’t worked, so he’d have to take it from him. Without saying anything else he roughly shoved Dean aside, making him stumble and nearly fall.

“What the hell?” he cried out.

Sam ignored him, heading for Cas. The angel looked confused, and he now held the amulet close to his chest. He made a grab for it, but Castiel backed up. Frightened, and now angry, Sam lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. A grunt left Cas as he landed with Sam on top of him. He straddled the angel, and instead of trying to make a grab for the amulet again, he pulled his arm back, making a fist. If Cas was disoriented then he would have a chance to get to the amulet. Just as he was about to drive his fist forward, he felt strong hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Sam, stop!” his brother yelled.

Sam struggled, trying to get free of Dean’s grip, and meanwhile Cas was putting the amulet safely away in his trench coat. Sam let out an angry yell, but then Dean grabbed his other arm and dragged him away from Cas. He struggled, wishing to get to the amulet. Fear was pressing in around him.

“No! No! I need the amulet!”

“Sam, this isn’t you,” Dean told him sternly.

“It is! Let me go!”

He glared at Cas as he stood, and he let out an angry huff of air through his nose. 

“Why do you want it?” he asked.

“There’s no time,” he got out through clenched teeth. “We’re not safe.”

Oh god, as each second went by they were closer and closer to being in danger from the Deathless One, and that much closer to death. And it’d be Rowena’s fault. His pulse continued to race, and beads of sweat started to break out on his forehead. Sam decided that he didn’t have time for them to think this over. He had to act _now_. 

All it took was relaxing his body for Dean to lighten his hold on him. And that was when Sam jammed his elbow back against him, ramming it into his gut. 

A grunt of pain left his brother, and he stumbled backwards, letting go of Sam to instinctively clutch at his abdomen. Just as he was about to make another attempt to get the amulet from Castiel, Rowena ran into the room, her eyes wide with fear.

“We have a bit of a problem,” she told them.

“Sam!” 

The rage-filled voice sounded from down the hallway. It was the Deathless One. 

Before Sam knew how to react, Rowena was grabbing his hand, leading him deeper into the bunker, and subsequently, away from Castiel.

Sam tugged himself free of her grip, and started going after Dean and Castiel, who were now running towards another hallway. But he stopped when he saw the small figure standing there, staring at him.

The air grew colder, and Sam could now see his breath in the air. Goosebumps ran up along his arms. Ivan just stared, fire in his eyes. His heart sunk as the sounds of Dean and Castiel’s footsteps grew quieter until they were gone.

Crackling filled the air as ice began to coat the entirety of the war room: the walls, the floor, the stairs, the table and chairs. As the metal of the stairs froze it creaked, the sound alarmingly loud. The air became incredibly dry, and Sam found himself licking his lips.

He felt a small hand take hold of his, and Rowena hissed, “Let’s go, you moronic moose.”

As the ice started forming closer and closer to his feet, and Ivan began moving forward, Sam turned and ran. Once in the library he made the mistake of glancing back to see if Ivan was following him. That resulted in him painfully bumping into one of the tables. As he gathered himself he saw that his slave was walking towards them leisurely. Sam swallowed roughly. That was more frightening than if he was chasing after them. With demons outside there was no way out. The Deathless One would get him.

Rowena tugged on his hand now, and without further urging, he took off running again. Sam didn’t understand why she was apparently trying to save him. His instincts told him that she’d been lying to him the whole time. But what if he was wrong? No, he couldn’t be.

Once they were in one of the hallways, Sam paused, trying to figure out where they should hide. His bedroom was too obvious. But then again, Ivan would think the same thing and would neglect to check there.

“Come on,” Sam urged and he led her to his room. 

They hurriedly made their way inside, and Sam closed and locked the door behind them. Without the lights on, the room was almost pitch black, save for the lights from the hallway flooding in through the small crack under the door. For a few seconds the only sounds were their panicked breaths, which both of them were trying to get under control. 

Then, Sam realized that he and Rowena were still holding hands. He forcefully pulled his hand away from her, but she made no comment.

As Sam’s eyes began adjusting to the dark he walked further into his room, feeling safer being away from the door. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he sensed Rowena approaching him. 

“What the hell did you do?” he asked her quietly.

“I didn’t do anything,” she lied.

He whirled on her. “You said you’d keep him occupied, and did you? No. In fact, I bet you told him I’d be without the amulet.”

“Why would I do that?”

The stress of his current situation got to him, and he grabbed her, slamming her up against the wall. He held her there with his forearm across her shoulders.

“Stop. Lying. That amulet, there’s magic in it, magic that you said you didn’t understand, and I don’t know why the hell I believed you.”

“I don’t understand it,” she protested in a small voice.

Sam just forced his arm against her, making her press back against the wall till it surely hurt. 

“Why have you been lying to me?” he hissed. 

And then, he heard footsteps. It sounded like they were at the entrance to the hallway. Sam put a hand over Rowena’s mouth in case she decided to give their position away. 

“Oh Sam!” Ivan called. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” 

Sam found himself holding his breath as the footsteps drew closer. The small bit of light coming in from under the door lessened. Ivan was standing right outside.

_Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door._

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure even Rowena could hear it. Time seemed to stretch into eternity. On and on. And then, the footsteps moved away. 

Sam waited a few seconds, wondering if this was some sort of ploy to make them let their guard down. When that didn’t seem to be the case he moved his hand away from Rowena’s mouth, and they both took in large gasps of air. 

“You have to get the amulet,” Rowena told him in a near whisper.

“No shit.” He looked back to her. “Now tell me why you’ve been lying to me. Otherwise I’ll tie you up and toss you out in the hallway for Ivan.”

He watched as a smile slowly made its way onto her face. “Ivan won’t hurt me,” she said. “It was part of our deal.”

“What deal?”

“The deal where he gets to kill you, Dean, and Cas, and get the amulet. Apparently I’ve been so helpful he doesn’t want to kill me. And if I play my part then I’ll get to walk out of here. I’m supposed to betray you, lead you into a trap.”

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. “Then why are you telling me this?”

“Because, as much as it pains me to admit it, I don’t want him to kill the three of you.” Sam just continued to frown at her. “Yes, Sam, I know, it’s surprising. But you’ve helped me and my son before, and he’s going to need your help if he ever has any hope of getting out of that pathetic building he calls a palace.” 

“I didn’t think you cared about him.”

“I don’t,” she answered simply.

Sam let out a frustrated growl as he turned and took a few steps away from her. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Am I ever going to understand this woman?_

“So what about everything else?” he asked. “Can you break through the magic on the amulet?”

He was surprised when Rowena answered truthfully, “Yes.”

“Then why have you let me go on like this?” he questioned, hanging his head. 

Why? Why would she do this to him? Why did anyone want to do this to him? Force him to have a slave that he didn’t want, power that was dangerous for him to have. He didn’t understand any of it.

Aggressive heat flared through Sam at the one word Rowena responded with. “Fun.”

His muscles tensed, and it took all his willpower to not go over to her and crush her windpipe. 

Could he believe her? Now that he thought of it did sound like something she’d purposefully do in order to get entertainment. But something still bothered Sam. There had to be more to her than that. There was always more to people than just what they sometimes wanted others to think. For now, he’d have to let it go. Getting the amulet back from Castiel was more important than playing twenty questions with someone who’d most likely be unwilling to play along. 

Sam took in a deep breath, and on the exhale he did his best to relax.

“I should text Dean. Find out where he is.”

As Sam took out his phone Rowena said, “You could do that, I suppose. Or we could take advantage of the fact that we’re in your room.”

The light from his phone blinded him for a few seconds after he turned it on, leaving him blinking rapidly. When his eyes grew accustomed to it he shot Rowena a hesitant glance, his eyebrows raised. Now with more light he could clearly see that she seemed pleased with herself.

He looked back to his phone, found Dean in his contacts, and then texted, _**Where r u?**_

“What are you talking about?” he asked her once the message was sent. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen, nervously awaiting for his brother to text back.

“I’m talking about the fact that there’s a perfectly good bed in here, you’re a man, and I’m a woman.”

Sam slowly looked up from his phone and turned to her. 

_She’s kidding, right?_

“What?”

She shrugged. “Come now, Samuel, is it so strange for me to be a teensy bit attracted to a big, strong man like you?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is,” he began, looking back at his phone, “you’re creeping me out. And we’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“I’m sure we have some time.”

“Not happening, Rowena,” Sam asserted, shuffling away from her.

He didn’t think she’d do anything to him without his consent like others had before, but it never hurt to be careful.

“Fine,” she eventually said, sounding as if she’d truly given up on the idea. She walked over to his bed and sat down on it. “So what’s the plan?”

“Dean hasn’t texted me back yet. We need to get his location. Till then, we wait.”

 

Dean and Castiel were running, heading away from the Deathless One. Away from Sam and Rowena. Leaving his brother behind made anxiety and guilt weigh heavily on him, but there’d been no time. Rowena had grabbed him and his path to his brother had already been cut off by the furious slave.

Dean’s breath came in puffs as he led Castiel deeper into the bunker. 

“Where are we going?” his friend called to him.

“The garage,” Dean answered simply on an exhale. 

Their feet pounded against the rough surface of the floor, and Dean led Cas through all the twists and turns of the large building. A minute or two later they entered the garage, and Dean flicked on the lights. 

There were some clicks and the barely audible hum of electricity as they were bathed in light. Old cars and motorcycles sat along the sides of the room, and right in the middle was the Impala.  
“Are we leaving?” Cas asked him, following Dean as he made his way over to his car.

The black shine of the Impala was a soothing sight for Dean, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach began to unwind. He walked over, taking his keys out of his pocket, and heading for the trunk.

“No, of course not,” Dean answered incredulously. “One, there are demons outside, and two, I’m not leaving my little brother alone in here with a witch and an out of control, immortal maniac.” 

He unlocked the trunk, and opened it before lifting up the false bottom to reveal the secret compartment with all the weapons. Cas was at his side as he casually propped it open with an old, broken gun.

“We have to get the amulet to Sam,” his friend said as Dean looked through his arsenal of weapons. 

“I know.”

“I should’ve listened to him. It was wrong of me to not trust him.”

Dean chose his favorite handgun, feeling thankful that he hadn’t yet unpacked it from the trunk after their last hunt the week before. A frown came across his face. A week before. That already seemed like such a long time ago. 

_Time flies when you’re having fun,_ he thought ironically.

As be began to load it with bullets he said, “Look, Cas, we both should’ve listened to him. Clearly Sam figured out something was going on. It was our mistake for judging him so harshly. He was trying to help, so he definitely hasn’t gone all Sith Lord on us yet.” 

When he finished loading his gun Castiel squinted at it. “We can’t kill him, Dean. He’s immortal.”

He slammed the trunk closed, and as he turned the safety off on his gun he told him, “I know, but we can slow him down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! Chapter twenty-three comes out tomorrow.


	23. Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Deathless One on the loose in the bunker and no longer under Sam's control, everyone is in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, chapter 23! Also, I don't want to be _that_ fanfiction author, but comments are _really_ awesome. I try to leave comments on everything I read, and most writers do as well. We realize how great it feels to receive comments. So, I don't want to sound like I'm begging, but comments are great. And if you don't know what to write, I'd honestly even appreciate getting a comment that just says "kudos".

Dean and Castiel left the garage, making their way back into the hallway.

“We need to find out where Sam is,” Cas said. 

“Hold on, I’ll text him.”

Dean handed his gun to Castiel and then dug his phone out of his pocket. When he tried turning it on, nothing happened.

“Crap,” he muttered.

“What is it?”

“Battery’s dead. Okay, change of plans. I have a charger in my room. We go there first, and then I’ll text Sam to find out where he is. I don’t feel like looking around for him with the Deathless One out there doing the same thing.”

He pocketed his phone, and then took his gun back from Cas. The angel conjured his angel blade into his hand and they quickly and quietly made their way down the hallway. They always stopped when there was a doorway, or another hallway branching off from the one they were in. One of them would carefully poke their head around - usually Dean since he had the gun - and after declaring it was safe, they would move on.

It unnerved Dean having to sneak around his own home. It just wasn’t right. 

They were getting closer to his room when they heard footsteps. At the ominous sound he and Castiel quickly pressed themselves to the wall, wanting to remain unseen for as long as possible.

The Deathless One turned the corner, looking rather frustrated. It took him a second to process that the angel and hunter were there, but when he did, a vicious, animal-like snarl left him. 

He took a step forward. 

_Bang!_

The sound of the gunshot ricocheted off the walls, and the bullet hit home, embedding itself into Ivan’s knee. He cried out, falling to the ground. Not wanting to take any chances that he’d get back up, Dean mercilessly shot his other knee. An agonized scream left the Deathless One, and droplets of blood flew into the air before landing, decorating the floor in red. 

Figuring that’d slow him down enough for now, he gestured to Cas and they kept moving. The two of them now ran as quickly as they could, not bothering to be stealthy. They knew where the Deathless One was, and it’d probably be quite some time before he could get to them.

The bang of a gunshot caused Sam and Rowena to jump. She was on her feet in an instant, moving to stand beside him. Another one soon followed the first.

Sam turned his phone off and pocketed it. He was going out there. 

As he went to open the door, Rowena asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find Dean. He’s in trouble.”

“Sam, wait!”

Despite Rowena’s plea he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. A few seconds later Rowena followed after him. 

The two of them hurriedly made their way through the hallway. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound had come from, but Sam did his best to travel in that direction. Whenever they reached a point where there were more hallways branching off from their current one Sam had to stop. Already he was forgetting the direction the sound had come from.

“Which way?” Rowena asked him as they came to yet another stop.

Sam was no longer sure of himself, but the best thing he could do at the moment was to keep moving.

“Left,” he answered, and they headed in that direction.

The hallway began curving to the right, and that was when they noticed something, a sound of some sort. Sam paused, pressing himself against the wall, and reaching out with his arm to do the same to Rowena. All was quiet. 

Then there it was again!

As it grew louder - and sadly, closer - Sam and Rowena could make out what it was. Someone gasping, and swearing, and there was another noise as well, like someone was dragging something across the floor.

The voice didn’t sound like either Dean or Castiel, but Sam wanted to make sure. What if they needed his help?

At the moment he felt rather stupid for leaving his room in such a hurry. Had he not given into fear and curiosity he would’ve thought to take a gun with him. But there was nothing to be done for it now. So taking in a deep breath, Sam moved into the middle of the hallway, and walked towards the voice.

It didn’t take him long to find Ivan. His slave had a manic, pained look in his eyes, and he was dragging himself across the floor, his legs dangling uselessly behind him. He left smears of blood in his wake. The terrifying sight made a shudder run through Sam.

“You!” he yelled out when he saw him. “I’m going to kill you!”

The hallway started growing colder, and that was when Sam began running in the other direction, only stopping to grab Rowena’s arm and pull her along with him.

“What? What is it?” she cried.

“Ivan. We have to move.”

Sam led her through the hallways of the bunker, trying to figure out a place where they could hide. Going back to his room didn’t feel like the right move, so he led her away from it. They eventually made it into the library, but Sam didn’t feel safe. Not yet. He led Rowena into the war room, which was now filled with the sound of dripping water as melting ice fell off of every surface and onto the floor. Sam inwardly groaned at the sight. After this mess was over, he and Dean would have a lot of work to do drying everything. But he didn’t pause, and he and Rowena splashed through the room, into the hallway that would lead to the kitchen. 

Once there Sam collapsed to the ground. Running had aggravated the cut on his leg, and pain lanced through it. Rowena made her way over to the table and took a seat, trying to catch her breath.

Wanting to make sure he hadn’t pulled any stitches out, Sam checked his leg. It was bleeding again, and after lifting up some of the gauze and tape over it he could see that the wound had opened a little bit, the ends of two torn stitches still stuck in his skin. A resigned breath left him and he set to pulling them out. Doing so didn’t necessarily cause him any more pain, but the pulling sensation was uncomfortable. Though he’d felt it many times his stomach was still doing little, uneasy flips, as it always did from that sensation.

Rowena made his way over to him and offered him a long strip of soft, black fabric. As he took it from her he realized it was from the bottom part of her dress. He hadn’t even noticed her tearing it off.

Sam took it, thanking her, and then set to tying it around the wound. He gritted his teeth as he pulled it tight, the pressure causing it to stab and burn.

When that was done, Sam just wanted to lay down and never get up. But he couldn’t do that. That meant giving up. Then again, would giving up be so bad? He was just so tired, and so done with everything. He didn’t even necessarily like being with Rowena right now, despite the kindness she’d shown towards him. Now that they weren’t running he had time to really process her offer from early. Nervous heat curled his stomach at that. Did she really want him in that way? Knowing that someone did was sickening. There had been too many people who had felt that way towards him that hadn’t given a damn about how he felt. Rowena was morally gray at best, but logic told him she wouldn’t hurt him in that way. That didn’t mean that his anxiety, or his PTSD, or whatever the hell it was, agreed on the matter.

“Anything from Dean?” Rowena asked him.

Sam was thankful for the distraction from his uncomfortable thoughts, and instantly checked his phone.

“Still nothing.”

 

“Come on, come on, come on,” Dean urged quietly, staring at the stupid battery symbol that had lit up his phone screen.

He and Castiel had made it to his room not that long ago, and he’d just plugged his phone in. He knew it’d take some time before it had enough juice to turn on. Still, Dean was an impatient man, so now, this waiting set him on edge. Without even noticing, his thumb nail made it into his mouth, and he was chewing on it.

Castiel was standing by the door, his angel blade held at the ready, and he poked his head out every so often, checking for Sam, Rowena, or the Deathless One.

A minute passed. Two. And then, a triumphant cry left Dean as his phone began to turn on. Once it was on, Dean saw that he had a text from Sam, asking where he was.

Quickly, he shot back, _**My room. U?**_

A few seconds later… _**Kitchen.**_

_**On our way.** _

“He’s in the kitchen,” Dean announced. “We’re gonna head to him.”

Dean took a step towards the door, but his phone vibrated, and he looked to his desk, where he’d left it.

A text from Sam. _**Be careful. Ivan’s in the hallway near the boiler room.**_

_Damn,_ Dean thought. _He’s moving faster than I thought he would._

Just so Sam wouldn’t worry, he quickly leaned down, and responded, _**Got it.**_

“Ready?” Castiel asked when he went to him near the door.

Dean nodded, and then they left his room. 

The sight of the war room covered in melting ice sent a spark of anger through Dean. He’d have a lot of work to do after they took care of the Deathless One. Sam would probably insist on helping, but he was hurt, so Dean was going to force him to rest, even if he had to tie him down to his bed.

Once he and Castiel got to the kitchen they breathed sighs of relief. And so did Sam and Rowena, who were strangely sitting on the floor.

Sam started to get to his feet, and a grunt left him. Realizing that his leg must be hurting him, Dean quickly set his gun down, and rushed over to help him. He put an arm around Sam, letting him put one arm around his shoulders, and then he helped him stand. 

“Pulled some stitches out while running,” he explained.

Castiel went over to Sam, and he was already holding the amulet out to him. 

“Here. I’m sorry about earlier. I-”

“ _We_ ,” Dean added.

Cas nodded, and went on, “We should’ve trust you.”

Sam took the amulet from him, and then placed it around his neck. Some of the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. They were all relieved knowing that Sam had control of his slave once again.

 

Instantly, Sam closed his eyes and sent an order through the amulet, _Stop moving, and stay where you are._

Pure rage reached him through the amulet, but Sam didn’t let it go through to him, lest his control would break.

“Okay, he’s stopped moving,” he informed all of them. “We have to go find him.”

“What do we do with him when we find him?” Castiel asked.

Dean responded instantly, “I say we chop the son of a bitch into little pieces and drop them into the ocean.”

“No. We’ll chain him up in the dungeon, and then we can figure out what to do about his soul,” Sam told them.

The four of them didn’t have a hard time finding the rebellious slave. Since Dean had shot him, he’d left trails of blood in his wake; a disturbing sight despite knowing who the blood was from.

They found Ivan in a hallway, lying on his stomach, pathetic sobs leaving him. Not wanting to hear about Ivan’s anger or distress, Sam ordered him to be quiet. Terrifyingly enough, his sobs instantly stopped as well, but his body continued to convulse, as if it was fighting against the unnatural magic of the command.

Sam and Dean picked him up, and with Rowena and Castiel following behind him, they took him to the dungeon, chaining him to the chair in the middle of the room. 

Castiel and Dean were the first ones to leave the room. Sam stayed, standing in front of Ivan, but he wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the amulet. The thought that Ivan might escape the dungeon frightened him, and Sam knew his control over him was sometimes weak. Could he just walk away without doing anything to lessen the chances of something like this happening again?  
Guessing his thoughts, Rowena said, “He’s dangerous, Sam.”

“I know.”

Tears were still making their way down Ivan’s face as the hunter and the witch contemplated him.

Part of him told him to not do this, but he felt like he had to, and worse, he wanted to. He wanted more power. He didn’t want to feel fear like he had today. Not because of the Deathless One, not because of Rowena. Not because of anyone or anything.

“It’s time I stop being afraid.”

Sam sent an order through the amulet for Ivan to drastically lower the temperature in the room. His slave did so, unable to fight what he was commanded to do. Sam and Rowena stood, shivering in the room, as the temperature lowered. It grew colder and colder, so cold Sam started to think that he should order Ivan to stop. But no, he wanted more power.

When it reached the point where his teeth were chattering so fiercely he thought he might bite his tongue off, he ordered Ivan to stop. The room would take some time to warm up again, but in a few seconds, Sam could leave.

He closed his eyes, awaiting the feeling of Ivan’s powers flowing into him. When the energy began to flow into him this time, it was violent. Sam had never made Ivan use so much of his power before, so now, he was feeling the effects of it. He breathed in deeply, contentedly. The energy buzzed through him ecstatically, and Sam idly wondered if this was what it felt like to be high. And then, the energy transfer finished, and he was left feeling better than he had before. Thoughts of giving up were no longer crossing his mind. Doubt had left too. This was the right thing to do. He just knew it. Now, he had more power than Ivan, and soon, he’d have all of it.

Without looking back, he and Rowena left the dungeon. With her now walking behind him, Sam never saw the devious look on her face.


	24. Crosses to Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel learn some horrifying truths about Sam's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with some pretty heavy emotional stuff, and there's a mention of rape.

The energy transfer had taken longer than Sam had realized; by the time he and Rowena made it to the library, he could see Dean already laying towels out in the war room. Castiel was helping too.

When Sam and Rowena entered the war room, Dean turned a questioning eye on the two of them. “What took you so long?”

Castiel paused in wiping the table to look up at them, his gaze just as curious as his brother’s.

Sam paused, not sure how to respond. He really didn’t want to tell Dean about what he’d done, knowing he wouldn’t approve. Rowena saved him, but he wasn’t fond of the lie she told.

“Your brother here was just showing me a few things he can do with his tongue.”

His cheeks instantly reddened for two reasons. One, Dean was looking at him with wide eyes, and so was Castiel, and Sam _definitely_ didn’t want them to think that he had any interest in the redheaded witch at his side. And two, he was furious that _that_ was the lie she came up with. Sure, she had just helped him out of a tight spot, but he wasn’t at all pleased with how she’d done it. Sam directed a glare at her, and Rowena gave him a cheery smile. At that he released a quiet growl, one that would only reach her ears.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Um… Hold on, what? You two?” He pointed back and forth at them in confusion. “You’re a thing?”

“Not really,” Sam replied quickly, making sure that Rowena couldn’t say anything else embarrassing.

“That was unexpected,” Castiel simply stated, and then he went back to drying the table.

Not wanting to have Dean pondering what Rowena had said, he limped over to him, offering, “I could help you with drying everything up. Or if you want I could clean the blood in the hallways.”

Sam had been about to grab a towel from the pile Dean had on the table, but his brother slapped his hand away.

“Uh-uh. _You_ are going to get in bed and rest.”

Sam straightened. His cheeks, which had been turning back to their usual color, reddened again. It was embarrassing having his brother treating him like he couldn’t take care of himself.

“Dean, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, if fine means fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”

Sam scrunched his face up in confusion. “What?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been dying to say that. But the point is, you need to get your ass in bed.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’m tying you to it.”

Sam let out a long sigh, and then relented, “Fine.”

As he left the room he directed one last glare at Rowena, who seemed completely unfazed by it. It wasn’t till he limped through the doorway of his bedroom that he realized just how tired he was. Now grateful that Dean and Castiel were the ones cleaning and drying the place, Sam collapsed onto his bed. It crossed his mind that a few minutes ago, when he’d been taking Ivan’s powers, he hadn’t felt like this. He’d felt _alive_ , and just… good. Now that the energy had settled in him, becoming part of him, his body began to focus more on his aches and pains, and he certainly had a lot of them. Despite that, it didn’t take Sam long to fall asleep.

But even in sleep he couldn’t escape torment. The current issue with Ivan was digging up all the trauma that Sam had buried, and now he was paying for it. The nightmares were all jumbled. First he was with Ruby, drinking her blood, but he was outside of his body, watching it all happen and yelling at himself to stop. Then there was Gadreel, using his body to kill Kevin, and he heard the angel’s voice in his ear, “ _Your insides reek of shame and weakness._ ” The image of Kevin’s dead body lying before him, smoke rising from the holes in his head where his eyes used to be, gave way to darkness so absolute Sam felt like he was drowning. But then he was drawn out of the darkness, pulled backwards by some invisible force. And as that happened, a new scene formed before him. Once again, he was looking upon himself, but his eyes were wrong. So very wrong. They were as black as night – the eyes of a demon. Dean’s voice rang through his head now: “ _If I didn’t know you, I would wanna hunt you._ ” Everything melted away, like burning wax, revealing to him that he was in the Cage. It was dark, but Sam could already sense _his_ presence. Lightning flashed through the void, brightening the Cage just long enough for Sam to make out Lucifer’s smiling face a mere inch from his. When Lucifer caressed his cheek, his dreams became more chaotic than ever. Memory after memory of unwanted attention, whether it be physical contact, a look, an action, words, came forth as if a dam had burst. He heard it, he felt it; all the people, all the creatures who had touched him, used him, taunted him, hurt him, taken away his free will. It was so overwhelming Sam couldn’t even breathe.

In reality he was screaming so loudly that Dean rushed into his room in a panic.

Another touch joined all that he was feeling, and Sam tried to brush the hand off him, but its grip was firm.

“No!” he cried out. “Don’t touch me!”

Another hand. This one grabbed hold of his wrist and pinned his arm against his body. Sam thrashed madly, trying to get away.

Someone was calling his name, but through all the pain it seemed so far away.

With each second it grew louder, and then Sam woke up, sweat covering his body, and his heart beating fast. His screams died down into something akin to panicked whimpers. But as he began to take in his surroundings, he calmed; he was safe and sound in his bedroom. The hands released him, and he realized that they belonged to Dean. His brother had one leg on his bed, and he was leaning over him, his face etched with worry.

Something tickled Sam’s cheek and he wiped his hand across his face, only to have it become wet with the tears he’d shed in his sleep.

“Sam?” Dean asked. “You with me?”

Sam swallowed roughly, nodded. 

His brother retreated from his side and took a seat over in the chair by his desk. He also took the liberty of turning on his lamp. As the warm glow of the light chased away some of the darkness, Sam felt a little better. His breathing was easier, and his heart rate was starting to go down.

“Man, you really scared me,” Dean said. “The way you were screaming I thought someone was torturing you.”

Sam lifted himself up into a sitting position and ran his hands through his hair. The usual softness was gone now that the strands were covered in sweat. 

“Someone was,” he explained. “In my dreams, at least.”

Dean hissed in a breath that spoke of his own pain from seeing his brother suffer. “Right. So, um… do you, you know, want to talk about it?” The question came out awkwardly, speaking volumes about how uncomfortable he was when it came to discussing these types of things.

“There’s too much to talk about,” Sam replied. He shifted his legs, and was met with pain lancing through his left one. Tension and moving around in his sleep had aggravated the wound. “All this stuff with Ivan and the amulet, it’s bringing up some things I’d rather not think about.”

Dean scratched the back of his head, looking away from him. “Yeah, Cas told me about that.”

Sam tensed at that, causing his leg to hurt even more. “Did he say anything else?”

“Nope. Said it wasn’t his to share.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, and then settled himself back down in his bed.

“You know you can talk about it, right?” Dean questioned.

Sam was genuinely surprised at hearing that. “I can?”

“I know I probably seem unapproachable to you-“

“Very unapproachable,” Sam cut in. 

“Okay, yeah… that. And honestly, I don’t blame you for not coming to me. I mean, I’m a pretty crappy big brother when it comes to all that.”

Part of Sam wanted to tell Dean to not beat himself up about it, but the other part of him knew that Dean was right. Oftentimes he’d belittle his problems, or he’d equate physical healing with emotional healing. But Sam supposed this was what they did. They never truly talked about the scars left in their minds from all that they’d been through. Now, there was so much scarring, that starting to talk about it seemed a momentous task. Where to begin? How would Dean even react? And Sam wasn’t even sure if he was comfortable sharing any of his past with Dean. He’d kept it inside for so long that it seemed like his and his alone. The idea of someone else knowing all that he’d been through was frightening. Sam had been vulnerable like that on three occasions in his life, and they’d been the times he was possessed. But to decide to share his thoughts and feelings? It almost seemed too late to do so.

“Actually, I tend to be a crappy big brother in general.”

“Dude, stop.”

“What? It’s true!” Dean exclaimed. “I make decisions for you, I still sometimes treat you like you’re a little kid, I tease you about your problems…” He trailed off, which implied that the list could go on.

Sam glanced at his brother curiously. “Okay, where the hell is all this self realization coming from? It’s so not you.”

Instantly, Dean shot back. “It could be.”

“It’s really not.”

Dean looked down at the floor like he’d been doing earlier. “Okay, fine. I talked with Cas a lot when we were cleaning the place up. He’s more perceptive than he lets on.”

“Tell me about it.”

After that, silence ensued. Silence in which Sam’s thoughts gravitated back towards the horrors of his nightmares, the horrors of his life. Times like this he wondered how he’d even kept going, or if it was even worth it. It seemed like the longer he lived, the worse his life got. Even now, with more of the Deathless One’s powers, he felt trapped. Was Castiel right? Was taking his powers the right choice? But he was doing it of his own free will, so certainly that meant it was a good thing. It was the quickest, and safest way out of this situation. Trying to destroy the Deathless One’s soul probably wouldn’t even work, and as they all knew, he was incredibly dangerous. So why risk the chance of Ivan hurting someone with his powers? Why not act when there was already something to be done about the problem? The residual emotions left from his nightmares had yet to leave, and now, with pain and fear fresh in his mind, Sam didn’t regret his decision. He wouldn’t be powerless anymore. He wouldn’t be helpless, or afraid. 

Sam wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually Dean said, “You gonna be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Okay, well, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he left, and Sam was all alone with the scars in his mind.

 

After talking with Sam, Dean decided it was high time he went to bed. He was too tired to shower, and he told himself he could do so in the morning, so after changing into his pajamas he settled down, his memory foam mattress feeling like a cloud. The day he’d had had been the longest he’d gone through in a while, and man, did he feel it. His exhaustion pulled at him, overwhelming him, until he fell into a sleep so deep that not even dreams could reach him.

The next morning, Dean awoke before Sam. It was late (almost 11:00 AM), so he showered quickly. When he made his way into the kitchen he discovered that Castiel was there, and brewing coffee of all things.

“Mornin’,” Dean greeted. “That for me?” he asked, gesturing to the mug that Cas was now pouring coffee into.

“It is. I thought you’d need it after the day you had yesterday.”

He offered the mug to him, and Dean gratefully took it before sitting down at the table. Cas followed suit.

The coffee was probably too hot to drink, but Dean took a sip anyway.

_Ow!_

Definitely too hot.

Dean forced a smile, pretending he hadn’t just burned his tongue, but Cas gave a small sigh and looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It didn’t escape Dean’s notice that he also seemed to be trying very hard to keep an amused smile off his face.

Ignoring what had just happened, Dean announced, “After Sam gets up I was thinking we should start figuring out how to destroy the Deathless One’s soul.”

Cas nodded in agreement.

Then something struck Dean, and he looked around the room.

“Where’s Rowena?” he questioned.

“Sulking.”

He faced forward again and raised his eyebrows at Cas.

“I think,” the angel added. “She was up earlier this morning complaining to me about the fact that the only dress in this blasted bunker is her own and it’s bloody ruined, and she has half a mind to go rip the faces off the demons outside so she can go get herself something decent to wear.”

Cas’ words gave Dean pause. Some of the language had been unlike him.

“What?”

The angel shrugged. “That’s what she said. She also expressed that she will not be wearing flannel.”

Dean scrunched his face up in confusion as he tried to make sense of that. Then it came to him. “Well, she doesn’t have to worry about that because I sure as hell ain’t offering her any of my clothes. I can’t speak for Sam though since those two are apparently a thing.”

After that Dean tried taking another sip of his coffee. It still stung his mouth a little, but it was drinkable.

“I’m not sure that’s actually what is going on,” Castiel said. “Sam seemed rather flustered.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I can’t say that I would seeing as I’d never make out with out with a witch.” Dean rolled his eyes at him, and Cas continued, “That’s not the point, Dean. What I’m saying is that something doesn’t feel right.”

“Was Rowena lying?”

It was at that moment that Cas found the table incredibly interesting. He even went so far as to start running his finger along it.

“What is it?” Dean asked him. “Come on, I know that look.”

“I couldn’t tell if she was lying or not,” Castiel admitted sheepishly.

“Buddy, don’t feel bad about it. She probably has some spell in place or something. You know how secretive that woman is.” Another sip of his coffee. “But I think you’re right. Something’s definitely up. I haven’t seen Sam get with a woman in a long time. In fact, he’s still a virgin. Well, born-again virgin.”

“I know. I can tell.”

Dean had been drinking deeply from his mug of coffee, and at Castiel’s words he just about started choking. Some coffee spilled over the rim of the mug and splashed onto the table. Dean was lucky to not get any on himself.

He slowly put the mug down and looked Cas dead in the eye. “You can tell?”

“The energy around him looks different than yours does.”

“Yeah, we’re different people.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Cas stated. “The energy a virgin gives off looks different from the energy that’s given off of someone who’s not a virgin.”

Dean got up to grab a paper towel to clean up the mess he’d made with the coffee, but it was also an excuse to have his back to Cas. He didn’t want him to see that he was now slightly nervous.

“You can’t use that little trick to learn how many times someone’s gotten laid, can you?”

Castiel answered simply, as if this was common knowledge, “No, of course not.”

_Thank god._

Once the small puddle of coffee was cleaned from the table, Dean took another sip, and then set to making himself some breakfast. Nothing elaborate, just toast, eggs, and bacon. Thankfully, his conversation with Castiel quickly veered away from the topic of virgins and they ended up talking about their favorite shows on Netflix. It was a nice break from all the heavy conversations they’d been having recently.

They continued talking about Netflix as he ate, and while Cas was in the middle of telling him why he should watch _Sense8_ , Sam entered the room, still favoring his left leg. His hair was wet from showering, and all things considered, he looked to be doing pretty well. He appeared so different from the screaming and sobbing mess he’d been last night. Thinking about seeing his brother like that sent a stabbing pain through Dean’s chest.

They greeted him, and upon seeing that Dean had cooked some extra food for him, Sam fixed himself a plate.

After taking a seat next to Castiel, he asked, “Where’s Rowena? I thought for sure she’d be up by now.”

Dean and Cas answered simultaneously, “Sulking.”

Sam just raised his eyebrows and turned his lips downward for a quick second before digging into his rather late breakfast.

They finished eating, Dean cleaned up (a task which Sam offered to do, but Dean was adamant that his brother not do anything), and then they all took seats in the library to discuss the amulet.

There was some debate about when and how to start the process, but Sam suggested, “Before I give the amulet to you again, Cas, I think we should check on Ivan, make sure he’s not about to escape.”

Given yesterday’s incident, what Sam said wasn’t a bad idea. So the three of them made their way to the dungeon.

Dean had expected the Deathless One to be grouchy and to complain about his wounds, but what he didn’t expect was to find him on the floor, his skin paler than usual, and a puddle of blood around him.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dean asked, thoroughly startled.

The Deathless One’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, so Dean knew he was alive. But he knew from experience that losing a lot of blood could do that to you. Why was the Deathless One’s body even reacting to this normally? Wasn’t there a crap ton of magic at work with him?

Dean glanced at Sam. It was his slave after all, so maybe he knew something.

Another thing Dean hadn’t quite anticipated: Sam swallowing roughly, clenching his jaw, and nervously meeting his gaze.

That’s when it clicked into place. Sam’s anxiety, the Deathless One somehow half-dead, Rowena’s odd explanation the day before.

Over the past week Dean had been trying his damned hardest to be a more understanding person, but the sudden flood of fear, and anger got the best of him. He lunged at Sam, driving his forearm against his shoulders, until he crashed back against one of the metal racks burdened with files that served as a secret door to the dungeon.

“Dean!” Cas cried out, startled by his sudden movement.

Sam cried out in pain, but at the moment, Dean didn’t even notice.

“What the hell, Sam?!” he yelled out.

He felt Cas grabbing at his shoulders. “Dean, let him go.”

Without turning to look at his friend he told him, “Not until I start getting some answers.” He shoved Sam a bit, causing him to push against his shoulders in an attempt to get him to stop. “Why?”

“I had to.”

“Bullshit!”

Anger burned in his brother’s eyes, yet when he spoke he did so calmly. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. Those nightmares I had last night, all that crap I don’t talk about, those are the reasons I took more of the Deathless One’s power.”

Dean wasn’t satisfied with Sam’s explanation. “I’ve got crap that’s scarred me too, but I don’t go around stealing power from an immortal being whose favorite hobby is turning some poor sons of bitches into ice sculptures.”

Sam looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me!”

His brother sharply turned his head to him. “Okay. You know how the three of us – me, you, Cas – we’re supposed to be _Team Free Will_? Well it might as well just be the two of you because I’ve almost _never_ had free will. I had demon blood dripped in my mouth when I was _six months old_! I grew up always having to follow orders from you, or Dad, not getting to make any choices for myself! The first twenty-five years of my life were basically controlled by demons so that I’d become the perfect vessel for Lucifer! I’ve been possessed by a demon, an angel, and an archangel! I’ve been manipulated, and used, and tortured, and hunted, and taken advantage of, and on top of all that I’ve had to deal with _multiple_ people not giving a damn about my personal boundaries, including you! So don’t you stand there and pretend you can understand.”

By the time he finished Sam had tears in his eyes, and Dean’s strength waned. He stepped back from Sam, nearly falling to the floor. An ache formed in the middle of his chest, and tears of his own pricked at the corners of his eyes. Not giving a damn about personal boundaries – that sounded a lot like…

“Sam,” Dean started, his voice cracking, “have you been raped?” Just saying the words made him want to throw up. The mere thought of someone hurting his brother like that was agony.

Sam didn’t say anything, but the tears that were now trailing down his face said it all. Dean collapsed to the floor.

Castiel said nothing, weathering through this revelation silently.

Not even a minute passed, but in the dungeon it felt like an eternity. The torment Dean was feeling reached deep, twisting his soul. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much his brother was hurting, and that terrified him. _It just wasn’t right._ He should be able to protect Sam. He was _supposed_ to protect Sam. But he’d failed. He’d failed so horribly that there was no way he could come back from this one.

“S-Sam,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry. S-so sorry.”

His little brother’s voice trembled slightly as he said, “We all have our crosses to bear. This one’s mine.”

And in the wake of the abhorrent truth Dean and Castiel had learned, the Deathless one was, for the moment, forgotten.


	25. It Has to Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam attempts to deal with the fact that Dean and Cas know more about what he's been through. Ivan's wounds are taken care of, and Dean, Castiel, and even Rowena, work to destroy Ivan's soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with a sensitive topic (what Dean and Cas learned about Sam in the last chapter). Sam also has a nightmare about some of what has happened to him (this is in reference to canon events), but nothing graphic. It's more implied than anything in the nightmare.

Sam sank down to sit on the floor, a hand over his mouth. He could scarcely believe what had just transpired, what he’d shared with Dean and Castiel. Having that information out in the open, Sam felt vulnerable, and he didn’t like it. But there was no going back. What made him even more frightened was that Dean wasn’t even looking at him. He knelt on the floor, supporting himself with one hand, and the other was pressed against his stomach, as if he felt sick.

Not sure what to do, Sam glanced up at Castiel, who was looking upon him with a sorrowful gaze. The angel didn’t say anything, just came and sat down beside him, as if hoping that close proximity would comfort him. It did because to Sam it was a show of support and understanding. But was Dean still on the fence about that? What was even going through his head?

He wiped some of his tears away and then called to him, “Dean?”

But Dean was too distraught to respond properly. He just uttered, “Oh god, Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

“Look, it’s not your fault. These things happen.”

“Yeah? Well they shouldn’t!” he growled out.

“Definitely agree with you on that.”

More silence. More waiting. If Sam didn’t feel so weak he’d probably start pacing, but all he could do was sit there, not moving. He felt detached from what was going on around him, like he was there, but not truly processing. Every once in a while he could feel panic surging up within him, panic because his brother and his best friend now knew something he’d kept secret for so many years, parts of his life he never wanted to revisit. Sam was surprised they hadn’t asked who had done such a thing to him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for it. Neither of them would appreciate that there was more than one name on that list, and Sam wasn’t inclined to share that information. And if that conversation got started they’d want explanations for what else he’d told them, and that was too much for Sam to handle.

Eventually Dean straightened and he went over to sit on the other side of Sam. 

“Come here,” his brother beckoned, before enfolding him in his arms. 

Sam rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, closing his eyes and doing his best to hold back more tears. He gripped him tightly, clutching at his shirt, as if holding onto him would keep his panic at bay. It wasn’t till he felt Castiel’s arms around him that his tears began to fall once more.

Sam was unsure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Castiel pulled away and Dean removed his hands from his shirt. He remained where he was, but they got up, and began to argue over whether or not they should just let Ivan bleed out. Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of Ivan dying like that, but he found himself incapable of speaking up. Eventually, Dean left and grabbed their extensive first aid kit, and they began to tend to Ivan’s wounds. Sam watched as Dean instructed Cas on making tourniquets for his legs in order to minimize the blood loss, and then they lifted the baggy jeans up over his knees to start cleaning the bullet holes. Ivan seemed barely conscious as Dean worked, with Cas at his side, mopping up the blood. Eventually, his brother had removed both bullets and had stitched him up. There was nothing to be done for the damage to his kneecaps, but no one particularly cared. 

Dean continued to care for the Deathless One, and Castiel helped Sam to his feet, leading him out of the dungeon. He sat him down at a table in the library, and then took a seat across from him.

“Sam,” Cas began, “what you told us, it doesn’t change the way I think of you. In fact, my admiration for you has only grown. I truly had no idea you’d been through such… unspeakable things.”

Despite Castiel’s words he could still feel fear creeping up on him, but for now, the numbness remained, overpowering everything. Eventually he would break down. He’d told them. He’d actually told them. They _knew_. The shame was too great to bear, and his subconscious seemed to know that, so it kept him detached from everything. All he could do was observe.

“Do you know why I didn’t want the Deathless One to die yet?”

Sam said nothing, only looked at him.

Cas seemed unfazed by his behavior. “It’s because I still want to try and help you. I won’t have you take that monster’s powers just to end this. You don’t have to do this to yourself.”

Sam’s gaze traveled down to the table. He understood Castiel’s intentions, but he wasn’t fond of them. He just wanted it over and done with. Sam wanted to be free _now_. But more than that, he _wanted_ the power. With more power he’d be safe. Despite that belief Sam didn’t feel safe. He felt very far from it. He felt weak, and pathetic, and disgusting. But it hurt too much to voice those thoughts. It hurt too much to do anything at the moment.

Dean entered the room, drying his hands with a white hand towel he’d most likely grabbed from one of the bathrooms. The blood staining the white fabric didn’t go unnoticed. After carelessly tossing the towel on the table he plopped down in the seat next to Sam, and put his feet up on the table.

“Thank god that’s over with. I still don’t see why we gotta let the bastard live.”

“Dean, we discussed this,” Castiel said sternly.

“Fine, whatever. What do you think, Sam?”

Sam wished he could tell him what he thought, that he wanted the rest of Ivan’s powers before letting him die. But he feared that opening his mouth would be a sign to his subconscious to give in to panic. And then he’d break.

“Sam isn’t really in a talking mood right now,” Cas explained.

“Oh… right. Sorry.”

Sam felt like he’d had enough human interaction for one day; after lifting the amulet over his head and dropping it on the table, he retreated to his room. He’d passed Rowena in the hallway, and she’d tried to talk to him, but Sam had just brushed past her, not registering her offended tone.

 

If someone asked Sam what he’d spent the rest of his day doing he wouldn’t know how to answer. What had he been doing? Lying around, thinking, but he couldn’t precisely put together what he’d been thinking about. Dean had come into his room sometime later in the afternoon and had given him an update on the progress Castiel was making with the amulet. Strangely, he had his right hand wrapped in a bandage. Sam eyed it, and Dean said, “Hold on, I’ll get to that.” So he gave him the update, and also ranted about how Rowena had joined them and confessed to understanding the magic tethered to Ivan’s soul. Bit by bit they were undoing the layers, but because of what Sam had done, there was no guarantee that they could get rid of the powers he’d already obtained. Destroying Ivan’s soul could possibly achieve that, if his soul could even be destroyed. Right now, they weren’t thinking so much about that, seeing as the spellwork was highly complicated. Fail-safes had even been put in place, and in a moment of carelessness Rowena had accidently caused Dean’s hand to set on fire, which explained the bandage, and even the bit of screaming that Sam had heard earlier.

“Cas can’t heal me yet,” he explained, “so I’m relying on large doses of expired Advil to get me through. My hand doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but I can’t see straight.” 

Usually Sam would be worried, but he currently didn’t have room for that, so he continued to just look at his brother, waiting for him to say something else, or leave.

Dean shifted awkwardly. “Okay, I’m gonna go. Um… I’ll be figuring out what to make for dinner soon. Hopefully I can see by then, or else we’re gonna have a problem. And I’m probably going to have to get Cas to help me cook, but I doubt he even knows how to preheat an oven.” Sam still didn’t say anything, so Dean finished with, “Okay, good talk,” before leaving and closing the door behind him.

More time passed, and Dean eventually came back. He tried to get him to leave his room so he could get dinner, or at least get something to drink, but he refused. Sam was slowly coming back to himself, so he was even able to say the word “no” in response to his brother’s urging.

To Sam’s dismay, rather than just leaving him like he’d done earlier in the day, Dean took a seat on the bed with him. For a while he didn’t speak, probably trying to think of something to say.

“Look, Sam, I don’t get what you’re going through. I see that now. And I’m sorry I pushed you into telling me something that I know you weren’t comfortable sharing.” Sam just turned his head away, not feeling able to meet his brother’s gaze. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, and that panic began to build up again. “Sam, please, just talk to me. It kills me seeing you like this. Are you locking yourself away in here ‘cause you’re worried what I think? ‘Cause I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known in my entire friggin’ life. I think that your ability to get up and get out of bed every day is inspiring. I think the fact that, even after all you’ve been through, that you still give a damn about life, and about other people, is beyond awesome. Sam, I gotta tell you, you are one amazing son of a bitch.” 

Dean paused to let all of that sink in, and Sam finally looked to him, tears in his eyes. He’d been afraid that Dean would find him shameful, weak, disgusting, but instead, he somehow saw only strength. Strength that Sam still didn’t always believe was there. 

He went on, “I think I get it. It’s scary knowing that other people know what you’ve been through, especially after you’ve kept it inside for so long. But Sam, you shouldn’t have to bear that burden alone. Cas and I, we’re not judging you for it. And you probably think that it’s your fault, but I’m gonna tell you right now, that it’s not. It’s the fault of whatever bastard did that to you. I’ll admit, I’m dying to ask who, but I know you don’t want to answer that. 

“But Sam, you don’t have to be scared of us. We could never blame you for what happened, we could never find you pathetic, or gross, or whatever other thoughts are going through your head. It’ll never be like that… ever. You’re my brother, and there’s nothing in this whole world powerful enough to change how much I love you.”

Dean blushed a little from saying the word “love” because it certainly wasn’t one he said often. Sam was pretty sure it’d actually been years since he’d heard his brother say he loved him. That didn’t mean he had been left wondering if he truly did. Dean’s actions spoke a lot about how he felt, even if they were sometimes not well thought out. So despite the small blush, Dean gave him a small smile, seeming satisfied with what he had said.

Sam, now beginning to feel overcome with emotion again, hugged him. “Thank you.”

Those were the only words he could find the power to say at the moment. But hearing what Dean said, it helped. The irrational part of him didn’t seem to think so, but logically, he was glad to know that his brother wasn’t judging him.

When they pulled apart Dean sniffled as if he’d been crying a little, and he quickly ducked his head, wiping his face with his left hand. 

“If you feel safer in here, I won’t ask you to come out and have dinner with us, but I can bring you some food, if you want.”

With difficulty, Sam forced out the words, “I’m good.”

Dean realized he wasn’t going to win this one, so he clapped Sam on the shoulder, and then left. Once the door closed Sam lay down on the bed, and thought about what Dean had said. It had quelled the rising tide of anxiety in him at the time, but now that he was left alone, it returned. Maybe he should go have dinner. But the thought of being around Cas, and Dean, and maybe even Rowena, made his skin crawl. He just wasn’t ready. Sam still had to process the fact that _they knew_. Well, Rowena didn’t, but Sam just didn’t feel the same.

With nothing else to do, he got into his pajamas, and went to sleep.

And much like the night before, Sam became lost in another nightmare. This one had much to do with what had transpired earlier. He tossed and turned in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. He was in the Cage again, and in this nightmare, Lucifer was doing much more than just caressing his cheek. Sam often had dreams about what had happened to him in the Cage. The torture he found somewhat bearable, but _this_ , the _other_ things Lucifer had done to him, those were not. And now, in his dream, Dean and Cas were there too, watching, shouting insults at him. They were calling him terrible things, things he sometimes called himself, and rather than being angry with the archangel who was hurting him, they were disgusted with Sam for seemingly allowing himself to be touched in such a way. There was no way to explain to them that he didn’t fight because he knew it was useless, because fear had trapped him inside his own mind. They hated him, never wanted to see him again. Sam’s mumbles turned into pleas of “don’t look at me”. 

For some reason the amulet appeared around his neck, and it seemed to suck the warmth from him; the warmth that still remained despite the icy touch of Lucifer. Sam, feeling hopeful, tried to use his new powers to fight him, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

It wasn’t till Lucifer took the amulet from his neck, and Dean and Castiel began laughing at him, that Sam woke up screaming.

He was curled up in a fetal position, his head in his hands. 

_They know, they know, they know, they know, they know. Oh god,_ they know _._

Sam couldn’t stop screaming, even when Dean and Cas burst into his room, and were grabbing him, trying to get him to calm down. 

They knew what had happened to him. They knew he’d been touched in an undesirable way. They knew he’d been tainted. They knew that he was even more impure than they’d originally thought. It wasn’t just the demon blood, or the multiple times he’d been possessed, that was wrong with him. They knew about everything else now too. 

Sam desperately clutched at his chest, trying to find the amulet, but it wasn’t there. 

“Where’s the amulet?!” he shouted at them.

Sam figured they didn’t understand why he needed it, but to his surprise, Dean said, “Cas, go get the amulet.”

The angel left, and Sam began taking in shuddering breaths, trying to calm down, but he couldn’t get enough air in. His hands and feet began tingling, and though his eyes were closed, his head swam.

The dizziness and tingling subsided a little as he told himself he’d have the amulet soon. He’d be okay. It could protect him.

But then he thought about how it hadn’t helped him at all in his nightmare. Lucifer had just laughed at it, torn it off of him, and tossed it aside. That was when Sam started shaking, and his chest began to hurt. It was like there was something heavy pressing down on him, keeping him from getting enough air in.

_What if it’s not enough? What if it’ll never be enough? I won’t be safe. I’ll never be safe._

“Hey, Sam? Sam. I’m here,” Dean soothed. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here, and Cas, Cas is gonna come back with the amulet. He’s gonna let you have it for a bit, okay?”

“It’s mine,” Sam got out. “I should always have it.”

“You may feel that now, but-“

That was when he opened his eyes, and found the strength to shove Dean off of his bed. His brother landed on his injured hand which caused him to release a pained, wordless shout, but at the moment, Sam didn’t care. 

He shouted at him, “It’s mine!”

Cas came back, and the blue-ish glow of the amulet lit the otherwise dark room. Before he could even get to the bed, Sam got up, stepped over Dean, and snatched it from him. He went back to his bed and sat there, staring at the amulet.

_It has to be enough. It has to._

_I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe._

The mantra seemed to work for now, and he could breathe again.

Dean groaned slightly as he picked himself up off of the floor, and in his peripheral vision he saw Cas help him. But his main focus was on the amulet. Soon, Sam pressed it against his chest and wrapped his arms around himself, as if he could hug it tightly so he’d never have to let go. 

A voice reached him. Rowena. “What’s going on here?”

That was followed by some cursing from Dean, and then she was ushered out of the room. Just as he was about to close the door, Sam lifted up his head, glaring at Dean and Cas. “Go!” he shouted at them. He didn’t want them to even look at him.

“Sam, we shouldn’t leave you like this,” Dean argued, coming closer. 

He reached out his hands towards him, and Sam flinched away, the tightness in his chest returning.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam told them darkly.

“Sam, please,” Cas began.

“I said go! I don’t want either of you here! I don’t want you to look at me!” When neither of them moved he threatened, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Realizing that this was a battle they couldn’t win, the two of them left the room with worried, hurt expressions etched across their faces.

After the door closed, Sam continued rocking back and forth, trying to find comfort from the amulet and from the power it gave him.

“It has to be enough,” he whispered. “It has to be enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my lovely readers, is what we call a mental breakdown/panic attack.


	26. A Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam assigns himself a dangerous task in order to test out his new powers.

By the time Sam was able to calm down it was past midnight, and all was quiet in the bunker. He’d stopped hugging the amulet to his chest a while ago and had placed it around his neck, but now he lifted it up to study it. It felt different, and Sam didn’t like it. Had the work Castiel and Rowena done lessened the power he had? If so, wouldn’t he have felt it? 

He shrugged the thought aside as he got out of bed and started getting dressed. It was ideal that Rowena and Dean would be asleep. That meant less people he’d have to explain himself to. Sam was going to test his power. He had to, especially after the nightmare he’d had. He had to know that he was safe. A plan was already forming in his mind. A plan that might be really stupid, or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Sam was going to follow through with it.

He crept out of his room, walking as quietly as possible. Making his way out of the hallway showed him that Cas wasn’t around, meaning he was probably spending his time in one of the guest bedrooms. Sam idly wondered if he got bored at night, and what it was that he did. But then he drew his focus back to the task at hand.

What he was going to do was dangerous – he’d need a weapon. But a gun would be too loud. Sam eyed the rack of swords in the library, thinking that maybe they could finally come in handy. He hadn’t been taught to fight with a sword, but he could fight with a machete, so surely it wouldn’t be _that_ different. He went over to the rack and picked one that seemed ideal, a rapier with a gilded hilt. After looking it over and deeming that it was sharp enough Sam made his way into the war room, and then up the stairs. 

He looked around one last time, just to make sure no one was there to witness what he was doing, and seeing no one, he opened the door and stepped outside. With the amulet tucked into his shirt to hide the light it emitted, Sam was only a dark figure against the deep shadows of the night, and if he moved slowly, he could remain unseen for quite some time.

Just as he’d expected, the demons were still there. They sat in three groups with each group forming a circle around a fire they’d made like it was some sort of camping trip. Laughter and the cracks of burning wood met Sam’s ears. For a second, Sam worried that the rapier might reflect the firelight and give him away, but the demons seemed too preoccupied with other things to notice. A few of them were making out, and being rather annoying about it. Upon realizing there was some groping going on as well, Sam averted his gaze. Some of the other demons had apparently left to get some food for their companions. They were eating large quantities of fries, and dipping them into something that at a first glance Sam thought was ketchup. But watching the way it dripped, acting much more like a liquid than ketchup ever would, Sam realized that he was very wrong. The firelight revealed that there was more than just fries, and what was probably blood. There were chunks of flesh, human flesh, and the demons ate it with relish. 

_Huh. I didn’t realize demons had such a versatile diet._

Another group was finding amusement in whacking one of their companions with branches. The demon who was on the ground, receiving the blows, was letting out moans that spoke of pleasure more than pain. 

_Should’ve expected demons to be masochists,_ Sam thought wryly.

He made his way up the steps, going as quietly as possible. Leaves crunched underfoot, but the laughter and talking from the demons, along with the crackling of the fire, drowned it out. Still, Sam found himself wishing he could move as silently as Dean. As he crouched down some more once he’d cleared the steps he also began to wish that he were a few inches shorter… at least for this moment. Though the demons showed no signs of noticing him he felt very exposed. 

He got as close as he dared – about five feet away – and hid himself behind a tree. Sam took in a deep breath, and attempted to focus, to feel the power within him. It surged awake, like cold, roiling waves amidst a storm. Startled by just how much power he truly had Sam almost accidently released it in a violent wave. He grit his teeth from the exertion of taming it, holding it at bay. And then, much like Ivan did when he used his powers, Sam imagined a focal point within him. The magic calmed and centered. He was still a little rusty on how this precisely worked, but he drew on his previous knowledge of wielding forces that surpassed normal human command. That led to thoughts of demon blood, and without noticing it, Sam licked his lips.

In a swift motion he was out from behind the tree and directed the energy built up within him at the closest group of demons, a cluster of eight. The results were instant. Flesh and blood was turning to stone, starting at their feet and working its way up. A few of them managed to cry out in alarm before they were completely turned. Instantly, the other two groups reacted, turning their heads towards him. Sam stepped around the fire, making sure they could fully see him.

They began to laugh loudly at him, no doubt thinking this was some sort of joke. After all, it was just him against all of them. But when he started coming forward, determination in his eyes, they faltered. And then they saw what had become of their companions. The remaining twelve demons were unsure of what to do. Many stayed where they were, attempting to work through their confusion about what was going on. Two of them charged at Sam, and he ran to meet them, closing the space between them swiftly. Not having the time to focus his powers, Sam raised his sword. As he swung the blade in a horizontal slash, he stepped forward with his right foot, so that he pivoted on the spot. The demon he’d aimed at jumped back just in time, and the end of the blade merely grazed her. However, the wound in her abdomen began to release steam, and she hugged her arms to herself, letting out a pained scream. If Sam didn’t know any better he’d think she’d had holy water thrown at her. 

He stored that observation away, telling himself he’d research it later. 

The other demon who’d charged at him was now unsure of herself, and Sam took advantage of that. He reined in the energy within him, once more thinking of the focal point. He feinted a backhanded stroke to the left, and as the demon shifted to avoid it, Sam lunged at her. He reached out to touch her forehead, and instantly, her movements stilled. Her flesh transformed to stone in a second. The other demon was coming at him again, but Sam switched to holding the rapier with his left hand, held out his right, and directed the energy towards her. Before she could even reach him she was a statue.

Ten demons remained. They’d watched what had proceeded with morbid fascination, but now they were rallying together, thinking that attacking at once would better their odds. Sam ducked the first blow aimed at him, sidestepped and then whacked the hilt of the rapier against the demon’s back, causing him to stumble. He twirled, aiming an overhand downward cut at the demon that was now on his left. Blood flew and the blade lodged where their neck attached to their shoulders. Releasing a grunt of exertion, Sam pulled the blade free. Steam rose from the wound as blood began to seep from it. He turned, sensing movement behind him, but he had reacted too late. A fist connected with his jaw, and he stumbled backwards. In hindsight, Sam realized that turning around completely as he had done had been a foolish move. It’d made it so that he faced away from the main group of the demons.

Before he could regain his balance, the demon in front of him, kicked him fiercely in the abdomen. The air left Sam and he crashed to the ground, the sword falling from his grip. In a matter of seconds he’d be surrounded. Reacting quickly, Sam rolled, just managing to avoid a kick to his face, and grabbed the rapier. He leapt to his feet. There was an almost imperceptible _whoosh_ to his left, and he swung his blade out to meet it. The clang of metal startled Sam, and he found himself facing down a demon wielding a wickedly curved blade. The weapon appeared aggressive, meant more for chopping and mangling, than even, graceful strokes. 

He drove Sam back, closer to his other adversaries. A fist connected with his back, and he stumbled forward, just as the demon before him raised his weapon, intending to have it come down on Sam’s head. 

He dropped to the ground in a roll, and then came to his feet once more. Sam let out a cry and charged forward, holding the rapier horizontally, so as to stab straight into his enemies. He skewered one demon, and they dropped to the ground, steam hissing from them, their blood staining their clothes. He dodged a blow aimed at him, and swung out his sword. But it never reached its target. The demon with the blade had blocked his attack. In the second that took to register, Sam dropped the rapier, thinking that might throw them off guard. It did, and he leapt at the nearest demon, causing them to crash to the ground with him on top of them.

A slight tap to their forehead was all it took before they were a statue. There were now only five left in fighting condition, and they looked around them. Sam had taken out fifteen of their number. They weren’t sure continuing this fight was a good idea. One worked up the courage to grab a branch, run towards one of the fires, and set the end alight. She came running at Sam, releasing a battle cry. She swept downward and he sidestepped, the burning branch meeting the air just centimeters from him. He could feel the heat radiating off of it. 

Now Sam attempted something similar to what he’d done the other night to slow down the police officers. But he quickly learned that using ice magic to put out a fire was much more difficult than freezing part of the ground, so he ended up having to dodge the flaming branch once more. The demon was now getting frustrated, and she growled at him, swinging again. Not really sure what he was doing, Sam stepped forward, and grabbed the branch, stopping its motion. He could feel the heat of the fire, so close to his skin, but now that he held the branch, he was able to command the magic to freeze it. The ice quickly crept up the wood, and the fire was then snuffed out. Forcefully, Sam wrenched the branch out of the demon’s hands and tossed it aside.

The demon before him stood utterly still, her eyes wide with terror. Before she could make another move, Sam turned her to stone.

Four demons left in fighting condition. He stepped towards them, and they backed up. Their fear gave Sam time, and he took advantage of it, inhaling deeply in order to focus his power. Then he thrust his hands out, and he released a yell as energy flowed forth from his fingertips into the air, and towards the remaining demons. They screamed as their skin began to turn gray and harden. In a matter of moments, all was silent save for the crackling of the fires, and Sam stood amidst statues. 

Now that the battle was over Sam weakened his hold over his powers and they settled once more. The fighting had been exhausting, and he wanted to drop to the ground. And now that his adrenaline rush seemed to be ending the cut on his left leg twinged, and his body began to throb from the punches and the kick he’d received. But his work wasn’t done yet. 

Panting, sweat pouring down his face despite the cold air, Sam made his way over to where he’d dropped the rapier. He picked it up, and studied the blood the coated the metal. It’d been such a long time since Sam had really thought about demon blood, but now, here it was, right in front of him. There was no painful need for it as he’d felt years ago, but rather a curiosity. The powers the amulet had granted him with worked splendidly, and they’d held up against twenty demons. But would they be enough? There was much more out there than demons. Sam stood there for a good ten minutes, arguing with himself about whether he should have some of the blood or not. Images from his nightmares, from his life, filled his mind. Pain, screaming, blood, torment. It all flashed through him, nearly overwhelming him. Sam had to lean his arm against a tree just to remain standing. Tears blurred his vision. One fell, dripped onto the sword, and his decision was made. He would have the blood. So he righted himself, swiped some of it off with his thumb and sucked it into his mouth. A contented moan left him instantly, and he closed his eyes in bliss. Oh, it’d been too long since he’d tasted something as satisfying as this. There was nothing else like it. And it wasn’t just the succulent flavor, or the warmth that he enjoyed; it was the power. Even just from those few drops he could feel strength pouring into him. 

Somehow, Sam was able to limit himself to just those few drops for now, and he cleaned the remaining blood from the blade with his shirt, before making his way into the bunker. He placed the rapier back in its spot on the rack, and then went to one of the storage rooms where they kept their tools. Sam remained undisturbed as he grabbed a sledgehammer and went back outside.

He stopped, standing in front of the closest demon-turned-statue. His face was frozen in a look of surprise. Gathering his strength, Sam hefted the sledgehammer, and then swung it down.

_Crack!_

He took to the statues with a vengeance, and the stone crumbled and broke beneath his might blows. He yelled his hatred for the demons into the night air, yelled his distress, his pain, his fear. And he took all of that, all of those emotions, and put them behind every swing. 

Nearly an hour later the statues had been essentially reduced to dust. Sam had fragments of stone caught in his hair, and rock dust coated him. He stood there, letting himself catch his breath.

He nearly jumped when lightning flashed through the sky in a brilliant electric blue. There was a _boom_ of thunder, and then rain began to fall. 

_At least I don’t have to put the fires out._

Feeling satisfied, and utterly spent, Sam made his way back into the bunker. Despite his low energy he felt elated. It’d worked. His powers had worked. He’d been able to protect himself, hold his own against twenty demons. And he’d gotten to have demon blood again. A smile lit his face, and paired with his disheveled state, he did not look entirely sane.

Once inside he placed the sledgehammer on the table in the war room. There was a clang, which must have alerted Castiel, because within seconds the angel was there. He eyed Sam with worry and great curiosity.

“What have you done?” he asked him.

“Took care of the demons outside,” Sam answered as he brushed past him, heading for his room. “You’re welcome.”


	27. Privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the demons gone, Castiel and Dean try to figure out how to help Sam.

Dean was woken up to Castiel gently shaking him. 

“Huh? What is it? What time is it?” he got out, voice groggy. He sat up and began rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s Sam,” Cas said. 

And in an instant Dean was wide-awake.

“What’s wrong with Sam?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him exactly, but he um… perhaps it’d be easier to show you. Get dressed.”

With that the angel left his room, closing the door behind him. Dean got up and flicked the lights on. He was blinded for a few seconds, but once that passed he hurriedly threw clothes on. As he was sitting on his bed and struggling with tying the laces on his boots (his right hand hurt too much for him to use it) Cas came back into the room without even announcing his presence first.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Dean asked him.

Cas crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Please tell me we’re not about to have another discussion about privacy and personal space.”

“Do we need to?”

They locked gazes for a few seconds and then Cas relented. “Fine, I’ll knock next time.”

Dean didn’t bother thanking him. Everybody should know to knock on someone’s bedroom door when it was closed. He resorted to using his right hand to finish tying the laces on his boots and he let out a grunt from the burning pain.

Cas gave him a sympathetic look and then came over, gently taking his right hand in his. A pure, blueish-white light encompassed their two hands, and the burning pain quickly receded. The healing left him with a tingly feeling, but after a few seconds it was gone.

Dean gave Cas a grateful smile, and began unwrapping the bandages on his hand.

“Thanks. You gonna have enough juice to heal Sam’s leg?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good.”

Dean finished removing the bandages and studied his hand. Looking at it, you couldn’t even tell it’d ever been injured.

“Grab your jacket, “Cas told him.

Dean frowned in confusion.

“We’re going outside? What about the demons?”

“They won’t be a problem,” he assured before walking out the door, his confident strides showing that he fully expected Dean to follow him.

Dean was about to call out to him, to tell him to hold on, but he sighed when he realized Cas was already long gone. He hurriedly grabbed his jacket that he’d thrown over the chair in the corner of his room, and started tugging it on as he went after his friend.

“Wait, hold on? What do you mean they won’t be a problem?” he called to him.

The angel was already pretty far down the hall, his trench coat billowing with his quick steps. Dean jogged to catch up to him.

“Like I said, I have to show you.”

“What does this have to do with Sam?”

“A lot.”

Dean tilted his head around as they walked. “Where _is_ Sam?”

“I think he’s taking a shower. He’d gotten himself pretty dirty.”

Upon hearing those words Dean’s first instinct was to say a crude joke, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t think Castiel would appreciate his sense of humor making an appearance at the moment. Besides, he probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.

They made their way into the war room, which was dimly lit, as was typical at night. There was a sledgehammer on the table, the head coated in gray dust.

“A sledgehammer?” he questioned incredulously, eyebrows raised.

Cas just grabbed his sleeve and started tugging him up the stairs. “Come on.”

“O-okay, I’m coming.” When they stood just outside the door Dean asked, “You’re sure it’s safe?”

As an answer Castiel swiftly opened the door and left the bunker. Dean muttered a curse and hurried after him. Upon leaving the safety and comfort of the bunker he was bombarded with cold air, and even colder raindrops. The wind whistled through the trees, and thunder sounded in the distance.

Once he got over his surprise at stepping out into a storm he was on full alert, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for any signs of movement. To his surprise, Cas had been right – the demons weren’t there. What the hell was going on?

Castiel led him to what looked like piles of gravel, and he explained, his voice loud in order to be heard over the pouring rain, “These _were_ demons, but Sam got to them!”

Lightning flashed across the sky. “What do you mean he got to them?!” Dean shouted, trying to speak over the clap of thunder that followed.

He was already beginning to figure out what had happened, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to come to terms with it just yet.

“Sam used the powers he took from the Deathless One to wipe out the demons!”

The downpour was turning the piles of rock and dust into a thick mud. He stared down at them. A few seconds passed before his mind fully rationalized what he was looking at. The demons, or what was left of them. Twenty demons. Gone. Just like that. 

Then fear set in. Fear over what could’ve happened to Sam; it clenched a tight fist around his heart.

“That stupid son of a bitch!” he shouted. “What was he thinking?! He could’ve gotten himself killed!”

Instinctively, even though he’d been told Sam was safe, his eyes searched over what he could see in the dark, as if he was expecting to find his brother’s dead body.

Castiel just put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and then tugged at his arm to start leading him back into the bunker.

Dean was thankful once they were inside. He’d only been out there for a minute and he was soaked. In order to remedy that he took off his jacket, letting it hang over the railing. As he made his way down the stairs he took off his flannel as well, and began wringing it out. He tossed that over a chair in the war room, and then contemplated about doing the same with the gray t-shirt he was wearing; it was nearly as soaked as his flannel shirt had been. Goosebumps rose up on his arms, and he shivered. That settled it for him. 

Dean lifted his wet shirt up over his head and began wringing that out too. He felt Cas’ eyes on him and he glanced over at the angel.

“What?” he asked, his tone a little more defensive than he intended.

Castiel’s eyes were squinted, and now it was more like he was observing him. “If humans value privacy, why are you taking your shirt off in front of me?”

“It’s just a damn shirt, okay? Besides, I’m a dude. I can have my shirt off.”

As Dean went back to squeezing more water from his shirt Castiel asked, “What does being male have to do with taking your shirt off?”

Growing uncomfortable from this conversation Dean didn’t bother to see if he could wring more droplets from the t-shirt, and swiftly put it back on. A shiver ran down his spine from the cold, wet fabric hugging his skin.

“Look,” he began, “for some reason it’s socially acceptable for men to take their shirts off and be seen by others, but for women, not so much.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Castiel said.

“And that, my friend, is what we call sexism.”

He sat himself down in one of the chairs and put his feet up on the table. Cas took the seat beside him.

“So what do we do?” Dean eventually asked him.

“Maybe if more men began to see women as their equals rather than sexual objects-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean interrupted. “I meant about Sam.”

Cas lowered his head slightly as his cheeks turned pink. “Right, yes. Of course.” After clearing his throat he went on, “I suppose we could just talk to him.”

“Because that went so well last time,” Dean stated sarcastically, remembering their heated discussion in the dungeon.

Anger sparked within him, coiling its way through his very being like a snake. But then it was taken over, dampened by sadness. Before he could do anything about it, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and there was a painful lump of emotion in his throat.

“There’s not much else we can do,” Castiel said. “I’m sure that if we tried to take the amulet from him he’d attack us.”

At those words Dean glanced down at his right hand, remembering how just a few hours ago Sam had pushed him, causing him to painfully land on his injured hand. And his brother hadn’t seemed to care. His sole focus had been on the amulet.

Tears that Dean had been trying to hold back began to slowly fall, rolling down his cheeks.

“He’s changing, Cas,” Dean got out. “I-I don’t want him to change. I just want my brother.”

Castiel let out a tired sigh and leaned forward, resting his hands on the table before clasping them together.

“Perhaps we should just let him go back to sleep and take the amulet from him then.”

“And then what?” Dean questioned. “Removing the spellwork would take too long, and we don’t even know if we can destroy a soul. There’s no way we can take care of this before Sam found out we were up to something. If we steal the amulet from him and he notices…” He trailed off, unable to voice his next thought.

Castiel did so for him. “There’s no telling what he might do to us.”

Dean swiped a hand across his face, brushing his tears away. He took in a shaky breath. “What do we talk to him about? The amulet? The demons?”

“All of it, I suppose, if he’s willing to listen.”

It occurred to Dean that talking about all that might not be the best idea. Something had set Sam off, and Dean guessed that it was what had come to light about his past. Hell, he’d be a wreck too if he’d gone through the same thing.

_Maybe we should let him be for now._

But then another part of Dean instantly rebutted that thought. Leaving Sam alone would just mean it’d take longer to end this, giving him time to turn even darker.

Either option seemed risky, but Dean realized what had to be done. They would have to talk to him as Castiel suggested and hope that he would see reason.

“Fine,” Dean agreed. “I’m not sure I should talk to him though.

“But you’re his brother,” Castiel insisted.

“His crappy brother who shoots first and asks questions later,” he lamented. “Seriously, talking to Sam is going to require tact, something I’m definitely lacking in despite how hard I’ve been trying. I just know I’ll say the wrong thing.

“You won’t say the wrong thing,” Castiel argued.

“Are you forgetting that this morning I was ready to punch him because something seemed off?”

All was silent for a few seconds, and then Cas conceded, “You’re right. I should talk to him alone.”

Dean stood as he said, “Well, good luck with that.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked as he began to leave the room.

“To get some beer. I’ll probably handle all this a lot better when I’m drunk.”

Thankfully, Castiel didn’t follow him, or tell him that he was making a bad decision. He knew fully well that he was doing something stupid, but in light of everything that was going on, being drunk would be a relief. What harm would it do?

Dean grabbed the entire case of beer from the fridge, and sat down with it at the kitchen table, intending to drink every last drop. They wouldn’t have any beer left after that, but since Sam had massacred those demons he supposed it was safe to go on a supply run.

He grabbed a bottle, popped the cap off, and took a long drink. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before he forgot why he was even drinking.

 

The rush of hot water over Sam’s body did nothing to dispel his shaking. He didn’t know why he was shaking. He’d been feeling good just a few minutes ago, but now it was like there was something stabbing through him, twisting his gut. He panted, licking his lips. His thoughts traveled to the demon blood he’d had.

“What have I done?” Sam whispered to himself. 

At the time it had seemed like the right thing to do, but now, he could feel his desire for it, growing within him, strengthening. He wanted it more than he wanted the power in the amulet. Just those few drops had done him in, and it was his fault.

A scream left him and he slammed his fist against the tiled shower wall. Cracks formed in the hard surface, and pain flared in Sam’s hand, but it was like a whisper compared to the battling emotions inside him. 

He wanted more blood. He _needed_ more blood. But just having those few drops had been wrong, and Sam could only blame himself. Surely all of this was his fault. He’d found the amulet, he’d touched it, he’d agreed to be Ivan’s master, he’d started taking his powers, he’d made the decision to kill the demons outside, and then he’d had some of their blood. 

_Maybe I am a monster._

All of this just proved that he couldn’t fight what he was, that he couldn’t fight the darkness that lived inside of him. And he was tired. So very tired. He’d fought and fought and fought, but yet again he was succumbing to that part of himself.

_Maybe it’s time to give up._

The idea was very enticing. He’d have no one to answer to but himself. No one could hurt him, and if he were judged by anyone they would be too far beneath him for their opinions to matter. But then Sam thought of Dean, of how much that would hurt him. It’d break his heart. He couldn’t do that to him. And he couldn’t do that to Castiel. Just the mere thought burned his insides.

_But what can I do?!_

Sam punched the wall once more and then fell to the bottom of the bathtub. He curled his knees up to his chest and sat with the water running over his head. No matter what he did he couldn’t win. If he finished taking the Deathless One’s powers he’d corrupt himself, if he had more demon blood he’d become even more unclean, he’d let his brother down, if he did nothing he’d surely be hurt again. It was just a matter of time. And on top of that, there was the chance that he would never break free. Sam didn’t see the right choice, or the winning choice. He’d have to resign himself to suffering one way or another.

An ache formed in his chest, which traveled up to his throat, as if he had to cry, but no tears came. Sam wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually the sensation of the hot water running over him started to hurt, like blunt, metallic objects were drumming against his skin, so he stood, turned the water off, and climbed out of the shower. He dried up, and just as he was wrapping a towel around his waist the door opened, and Sam let out a startled yelp. 

His pulse quickened with fear and he hugged his arms to his chest, and even once he saw that it was just Castiel he couldn’t relax. Sam felt too exposed, not just because he was only in a towel, but because Cas was one of the few people who knew the things that had been done to him.

“What the hell, Cas?!” Sam shouted at him.

The angel just tilted his head at him. “Are you all right, Sam? You look frightened.”

“Yeah, I kinda am!”

“Why?” he asked innocently.

“’Cause you just barged in here! Don’t you understand the concept of privacy?! Get out!”

“I thought…” He shook his head to himself. “Never mind. We need to talk.”

“Get out!” Sam shouted at him. He shoved Cas out of the bathroom, and then slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it.

He leaned back against the wooden surface, breathing heavily. Even though the gaze that had been on him just seconds ago had been friendly and innocent Sam’s skin crawled. He hadn’t expected to be seen with his clothes off, no one had seen so much of his skin since… A shudder ran through him, and it felt like a cold hand caressed his back.

There was a knock against the door, and he groaned.

“Sam, when you’re ready we really need to talk.”

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you!”

There was silence as the angel thought over what he’d said. Then: “Would you talk to Dean?”

“No! I don’t want to talk to either of you! Just leave me the hell alone!”

“Sam, we’re trying to help you,” Cas told him.

He whirled so that he was at least facing him, even though there was a door between them. “I don’t need your help, and I didn’t ask for it!”

“Sam-”

“No! Just go!”

Castiel didn’t respond for long seconds, nearly a minute, and Sam thought that he had finally left. But then he said, “Sam, I need the amulet.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “So that’s what you want to talk to me about? You want to take the amulet from me?”

“I-I’ll give it back,” Cas attempted to negotiate.

“Yeah, _after_ you make it completely useless. I need it, Cas!”

The angel simply asked one question. “Why?”

Sam swallowed roughly, fighting back a sudden wave of despair. He knew why he needed it. He needed it because he craved the power, he needed it because it would keep him safe. He needed it because… because the thought of not having it created a hole in his chest.

“It’s… complicated,” he eventually breathed out. 

There was no answer after that. Sam waited a whole minute before carefully opening the door to see if Castiel had left. The hallway was empty; his best friend was gone. Sam closed the door again, and heaved out a sigh. Somehow he’d have to keep the amulet away from them. It was the only thing he could think to do at the moment. 

But how?

As he got dressed he came to a realization, one he wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with. There was only one person who could do that and who would probably be willing to. Rowena. And better yet, she didn’t know what Dean and Castiel now knew.

_I’ll be safe with her._

_I hope._


	28. Accidents Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushed by the stress of watching Sam, and subsequently Dean, suffer, Castiel makes a rash decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun with this chapter. Heeheehee...

Castiel walked into the kitchen and slumped down across from Dean, who was on his fourth bottle of beer. Without a word his friend put his drink down, grabbed a bottle from the case, opened Cas’ hand and placed it in it. The angel eyed the drink dubiously before sliding it towards Dean.

“You know alcoholic beverages have no effect on me.”

There was a scraping noise as it was slid across the table towards him again. “Don’t care. Drink.”

“I suppose you want me to do this as a gesture of solidarity,” he reasoned.

Rather than respond Dean just took another sip from his bottle. Castiel sighed and then opened the beer he’d been handed, taking a sip of his own. It tasted awful, but he knew Dean wasn’t in the mood for hearing about that. 

“Wha’ happened?” Dean asked. “He talk to ya?”

Cas shook his head. “Sort of.” That earned him a frown, so he went on to elaborate, “There was a lot of yelling; not much of an actual discussion.”

Just so he could empty his bottle and not hurt Dean’s feelings, Cas lifted it to his lips, braced himself, and chugged half of it. Dean laughed a little at that, but it held no amusement.

“Man, whaddidya open up with?” The slur in his friend’s words didn’t go unnoticed, but he didn’t think he’d appreciate him pointing it out.

“I just said that we had to talk.”

“An’ that wazit? He jush wennoff on ya?”

Castiel shrugged. “I think it was something to do with the fact that he was only in a towel when I approached him.”

A groan left the inebriated hunter across from him, and then he lowered his head to the table. “Cas, no!” he cried out. He lifted his head up. “No, no, no, no, no!”

The angel frowned in confusion. “I thought you said it was all right for men to be seen shirtless.”

Dean wiped his hands over his face. “Oh god, man. This… thisiz Sam we’re talkin’ ‘bout. _Sam_. _Sa-am_.” The last time he said his brother’s name he held it out, as if to elaborate that it was truly Sam that he was talking about.

“Yes, I do know your brother’s name.”

That only elicited another groan from Dean and he buried his face in his hands. “No, Cas. Just… no, no, no…” he trailed off, his words turning into what sounded like saddened whimpers.

Now wanting an excuse to not say anything Cas took another drink from the beer Dean had given him. It tasted terrible, but he was a little embarrassed, and still not quite sure where he’d gone wrong. He wasn’t sure that with the current state Dean was in he’d be able to explain it to him.

Then it hit him.

“Is this something to do with privacy?”

“Yes, ih’ somethin’ to do with prive-cy,” he snapped, lifting his head up once more.

He frowned down at the table. “Then perhaps I do not understand.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, waving a hand at him. “Iz too late. I’ll talk to ‘im later.”

“So what now?”

As an answer Dean finished his bottle of beer, grabbed the last one in the case, opened it up, and started drinking it like a dehydrated man who’d just found water. Castiel heaved a sigh. All of this was putting him in a rather sour mood. Seeing his friends, his family, go through all this was upsetting to say the least. He had to do _something_ about it. 

His mind traveled back to his earlier conversation with Dean. Maybe he could steal the amulet while Sam was asleep, work with it, and then put it back around his neck before he woke up. It was risky, but he couldn’t go on like this. He had to do something. Lately, he’d been feeling useless – he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop Vadrach from imprisoning him or toppling Crowley’s reign, and now he’d been at a loss with Sam’s situation. That was going to change. It had to.

 

Dean had started slumping over the table, his eyelids fluttering closed, before he’d even finished the last bottle of beer, so Castiel had painstakingly gotten him into his bed. There’d been a lot of complaining from Dean, and he kept muttering about having to go check on Sam. Castiel had managed to console him, and then the hunter fell asleep.

Now, all Cas had to do was wait. He knew that Sam wasn’t asleep yet. He was within the hearing range of an angel, so Castiel was privy to the sounds of him shuffling about in his room. His movements were consistent, a pattern. Four steps in one direction, then four in the other – he was pacing.

Guilt weighed on Castiel. He hoped that he wasn’t part of the reason Sam was pacing, but he figured he was. Somehow, what he’d done earlier had affected him a lot more than he could understand. One thing he did know, without a doubt, was that Sam was still distraught about how much he and Dean now knew about his life. Castiel didn’t blame him. The mere thought of that even happening to anyone at all… a shudder ran along his spine. If only such a thing hadn’t happened to Sam. But there was nothing to be done for it. 

Angels _could_ travel through time occasionally, but making such a trip to save Sam from suffering? It’d be messy, potentially catastrophic, and most likely met with some sort of retaliation from Heaven. No, Cas couldn’t do that. So that’s why he just had to wait for Sam to fall asleep.

He wandered the bunker during that time, veering away from the dungeon. The Deathless One unsettled him, so he wasn’t about to go start a conversation just to stave off boredom. He tuned out the sounds physically around him, thinking it might be best to see if there was any chatter on angel radio. It’d only been a little over two days since Vadrach had taken control of Hell, but that didn’t mean all would be quiet. Chaos could’ve already started breaking out.

There wasn’t much that he was able to glean from the snippets of conversation he could overhear (it seemed as if some of the angels had learned how to sever his connection, something that made his chest ache with regret), but he did learn one thing: the number of demons on Earth was declining. That surprised Castiel. He would’ve suspected there to be more of them, for chaos and strife to reign. But maybe it was all part of some plan; return to Hell, strengthen their forces, regroup, and then march on Earth, or even Heaven. 

This knowledge made Castiel impatient, which was an incredibly rare emotion for him to feel. Impatience just wasn’t something angels typically experienced. They could wait out anything. But he wanted to help Crowley, and he felt that if he didn’t something very bad was going to happen. There wasn’t anything to be done for that just yet though because he had promised himself that he’d help Sam. And he would. There’d already been too many times where he felt like he’d let his friends down, so now, he was going to make up for it. 

His agenda: help Sam, and then help Crowley, and hope that nothing serious or world-ending happened while he did so. Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Would his work ever be complete?

Well, no better time than now to get started. He figured that Sam would be asleep.

When he got to the hunter’s room he saw that he was. His brow was furrowed slightly, as if he were troubled. 

_Probably a nightmare._

Slowly, doing his best to not make a sound, Castiel crept into Sam’s room and over to the bed. The light of the amulet around his neck shone in the darkness, leading him towards it. Sam shifted, and fear suddenly flooded Cas’ veins. It wasn’t till a distressed moan left the hunter that he realized he was still asleep. So he continued creeping forward. He studied Sam’s face, not having any trouble seeing in the dim light. His jaw was clenched, and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down in that way it did when he was in distress. Unable to stand watching his friend suffer like this Castiel reached out with two fingers and gently pressed them to Sam’s forehead. He closed his eyes, focused for a second until he found the turmoil within his mind, and then he eased it. Sam’s breaths deepened and he seemed to sink down into the mattress, the tension leaving his body. Figuring he had enough energy (it was beginning to take longer and longer for it to drain now, meaning that he was _finally_ healing from The Fall), he also took the time to heal the knife wound on Sam’s leg. There were other hurts on his body, aches and bruises that he’d most likely gotten from fighting the demons, so Castiel healed those as well. In nearly a minute Sam was sleeping much more peacefully, and Cas was able to smile.

Now he reached out for the amulet, making sure to keep himself from putting any pressure against Sam’s skin. Lifting it up above his head wasn’t easy, but by pressing the chain down into the pillow to decrease the sensation of it rubbing against Sam’s neck, he finally had it. Once the amulet was securely in his hands Castiel waited a few seconds to see if Sam noticed. But he didn’t. He simply rolled over onto his stomach, bringing his arms up to rest on his pillow and cradle his head.

The angel left the room as quietly as he’d entered it, and then he made his way to the library. It wasn’t till he sat down in a chair and placed the amulet on the table that he was able to relax, taking in a deep breath. That had been more nerve-wracking than he’d anticipated.

After taking a few seconds to gather himself, Castiel straightened and gazed into the gem. A few of the spells that had been attached to it were now gone, but the soul within was still mired within dark magic. Though Castiel wasn’t as skilled with magic as Rowena (he only understand the energy interactions involved rather than the spells themselves) he decided to try this on his own. Getting her involved right now wouldn’t be ideal. First, she’d probably cause a ruckus about being woken up so early, and secondly, the more people knew what he was doing, the higher the chance of Sam finding out. No, he had to do this on his own.

So Cas studied the energies, memorized the way they flowed and interacted with one another, taking note of the electrons that were locked in quantum entanglement. That was how he isolated the specific spell that had tethered the Deathless One’s powers to Sam. He let out some of his grace to begin unraveling it.

 

A burning and aching invaded Sam’s peaceful slumber. It startled him so much that he didn’t even have time to realize that he’d been sleeping, undisturbed by nightmares. It didn’t wake him up at first. The pain started as an awareness, a discomfort, so his unconscious mind decided to ignore it. It wasn’t pressing enough to warrant his attention. He drifted in sleep, the odd sensations now always present. Steadily, they began to grow, and Sam began to toss around in his bed in the hope that they might cease. Why was he hurting? 

Finally, the pain became more than discomfort, more than something he didn’t really have to pay attention to. He now felt it deep within his very being. Oddly, it reminded him a little bit of the time Castiel had plunged his hand into him to search for his soul a few years ago. He woke up, gasping from shock, his eyes wide. And then the pain heightened. And heightened. And heightened. Aching. Burning. Worse and worse it grew until Sam was blinded by it, and he couldn’t even scream. His breath wouldn’t come to him. His body began to convulse violently, and his eyes rolled back in his head. But still he remained conscious, his breaths now shallow, and still the pain grew. 

Seconds. Minutes. Maybe even an hour. All he knew was the pain; it was like a living thing, clawing and writhing, bent on tormenting him till the end of time. Hands were grabbing at him. Yelling. It was Dean. Had he managed to scream? Was that what had alerted his brother that something was wrong?

It was mind numbing. Thoughts would begin to form, but before they could properly come together they unraveled and dissipated, lost within the depths of his agony.

Time was nonexistent with that burning and aching. On and on it went. And as it continued only one thought was able to fully form.

_Kill me._

Over and over again he thought it.

_Kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me…_

Then, without warning, the burning and deep aching ceased. That didn’t erase the agony in his tense, knotted muscles, or the way his bottom lip and tongue bled from the many times he’d surely bitten them. Overcome with fear and shock, Sam began to scream. Incoherent at first, but then his bleeding mouth formed words despite the way it was swelling up.

“ _Kill me! Kill me!_ ”

Hands were holding onto him. Arms were wrapped around him. A stifled groan. Why was Dean trying to hold back a groan. Had he been hurt too?

“Sam, it’s okay!” Another groan from him, speaking of his own pain. “It’s okay!”

He cried out one last time, “Kill me!” and then broke down into sobs, his nose running.

When his cries began to weaken Dean ventured, “What’s wrong? Do you know what happened?”

“No!” he wailed in distress. “I don’t… I don’t _know_!”

Before he could say anything else, or before Dean could ask him another question, it started again, just like before. Discomfort.

He clung to Dean, his nails tearing at his skin.

“Oh god, it’s starting again! It’s starting again!”

Dean’s voice was panicked. “Hey, Sam? What’s starting again?”

“I can feel it,” he got out. “No, no… I can feel it!”

The pain began to grow again. “Oh god, it hurts, Dean! It hurts.”

His back arched as the excruciating sensations flared anew, and he bit down on his bottom lip so hard a part of him feared he was about to bite it off. He was just thankful it wasn’t his tongue this time. It grew, spreading rapidly throughout his body, his very being. His breath left him. 

Burning. Throbbing. He was being choked. Suffocating. Torture. 

A panicked thought traveled through his brain, one that made him wish for death once more: _I’m back in the Cage._

For now, he suffered so much, that that’s what he truly thought. Surely that was the only explanation for what was happening.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean yelled. “ _Castiel!_ ”

The multiple torments fled Sam’s body and he collapsed against his brother gasping in air, hot tears trailing down his face. There were hurried footsteps and then Cas was in his room. 

“What is it? What’s-”

Sam opened is eyes to see the angel stop dead, his gaze appalled. 

“Sam?” His voice held worry as he rushed over. “What happened?”

He was trembling, and his voice shook when he responded, “I-I do-don’t kn-know. D-don’t know.”

“He just started screaming,” Dean explained, his voice heavy in that way it got when he was holding back tears. “I don’t know what did it, but something was hurting him.”

“Are you all right now?” Cas asked.

Sam nodded tiredly, pulling away from Dean to collapse back onto his bed. “It’s gone now,” he breathed. “It’s gone now. It’s gone now…” He went on as if to reassure himself. Now the only pain he felt was that of strained muscles and his torn up lip and tongue. “It’s gone…” And with that, he passed out, utterly exhausted. Sam was beyond relieved when darkness took him.

 

Once Sam was back to sleep, Castiel did his best to heal him. Tampering with the amulet had sapped his strength, but he did what he could, especially since Dean didn’t leave his brother’s side until he stopped bleeding and his breathing had been even for a few minutes.

Dean rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and then shuffled back to his room. His worry for Sam, coupled with what must be a massive hangover, must’ve been enough to exhaust him to the point where he didn’t know what else to do but sleep. Before he drifted off Castiel promised him he’d figure out what had happened.

When Dean had yelled out his name him half an hour ago, a pit had formed in his stomach, one that was far too akin to guilt. But he didn’t understand why. Letting out a sigh, Castiel took the amulet out of his pocket and gazed upon it. 

Everything clicked into place.

The amulet fell from his hands to clatter onto the floor, rolling a bit before settling. And there it stayed.

Castiel simply walked away, leaving it on the floor in the hallway.

He now understood what had happened.

He’d done that to Sam. He’d hurt Sam. Messing with the spells on the amulet had caused him further torment, had made him go through such horrid suffering. Something told Castiel that had he continued his work with the amulet, Sam wouldn’t have lived to see the morning.

It’d been an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. But that didn’t dispel the guilt he felt, or the hot tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. Shame and regret burned in his stomach, weighed heavily upon him. All Castiel wanted to do in that moment was run; run far away. But he couldn’t. The Winchesters needed him. His family needed him. So despite the abhorrent accident, he would stay.


	29. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an argument with Rowena, and after Sam wakes up he learns a few things about his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while to get out. I was pretty busy with college stuff, and then, you know, my mental illnesses feel like staying without paying their rent. But don't you worry, I have really fun plans for this story. And for those who are wondering, I'll get back to Crowley soon. I haven't forgotten about him.

The headache pounding away behind Dean’s eyes when he woke up wasn’t unexpected, but it nearly made him wish he hadn’t had so much to drink the night before. Nearly. The blissful state of ignorance he’d been in for a while had been nice. That was, until Sam had started screaming. A shudder ran through him. He had never heard his brother scream like that before. It’d sounded like his very soul had been getting torn apart. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, a groan leaving him. He wished his headache would go away so he could think properly, figure out what had happened to his brother. 

As Dean forced himself out of bed, there was a knock on his door. The sound was much too loud and seemed to reverberate painfully throughout his skull.

“What?” he grumbled angrily.

The door opened, revealing Castiel. 

“What is it?” Dean asked him.

“I heard you were up and was wondering if you were feeling okay.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m probably doing better than Sam. Have you checked on him?”

The angel nodded. “He’s been asleep since we left last night.”

“Good, after all that he needs it. Do you even know what the hell happened?”

Cas looked away, hiding his face, and Dean’s head hurt too much to really think anything of it. 

“I’m not sure.”

“You know what,” Dean started, “I bet it was Rowena. Glad Sam took care of the demons, so now we can get her to leave.”

All Castiel did was nod his head, not meeting his eyes. Dean yawned and stretched and then announced, “I’ll talk to her after I’m more awake. I’m so not ready to have an argument just yet.”

 

Talking to Rowena proved easier said than done. For one, she denied that she had done anything to hurt Sam, and had said that she hadn’t even been awake. Dean thought that was bull since he wasn’t sure how anyone could’ve slept through Sam’s screams. But Dean didn’t think anyone else could’ve hurt him. He _knew_ Castiel wouldn’t hurt his brother, so that left Rowena… who was in complete denial of her involvement. And two, she was speaking to him with what Dean considered an unnecessary amount of sass. Cas was present for the argument, but he hadn’t said anything. They were in the library, and now their conversation was going on circles.

“Who else would’ve done it?” Dean asked her, taking a step closer. “Seriously, it’s not like you’re on our side. Why should I believe you didn’t do it?”

“Because I didn’t,” she told him icily, her eyes hot with anger.

“Then who did?!” he shouted.

“I don’t know, but since you clearly don’t care to have me around, I won’t stay to help you figure it out. I don’t care if a bunch of demons kill me. It’d be better than putting up with you.”

“Sadly for me, they’re all dead, so you get to live a little longer.”

“Oh good!” she responded, seemingly genuinely pleased. “Who took care of them? Was it Sam? Did he kill all of them?”

“As if you care.”

“It was Sam, wasn’t it?”

That was it. Dean had had it with her. He lunged at her, and slammed her up against the bookcase; if he had a knife on him he’d put it to her throat.

“You leave my brother out of this!” he shouted at her. “I know it was you who hurt him! Don’t pretend like you haven’t had your eye on him since you got here. I bet you’ve been manipulating us this whole time, and for what, just so you can get your witchy freak on?”

“What do you know? There are forces at work here beyond your understanding, you ape.”

Dean let out a growl, and shook her, making it so that she whacked back into the bookcase rather painfully. A wince left her.

He got right in her face, his breathing heavy. “Call me that again, I dare you.”

They stared at each other, the tension between them growing.

“Ape,” she hissed out.

Now Dean was really starting to wish he had a weapon. He tensed his muscles, doing everything in his power to stop himself from punching her; if he started, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t stop.

“Now, if you’re done insulting me,” she continued, “I’d like to leave.”

Dean let out a breath, and then backed away from her.

"Good, I don’t want you here anyway. You’re just a pathetic attention whore, and you’ve been no help whatsoever.”

She scoffed at that. “No help? Really? Then what have I been doing these past few days? I haven’t been sticking around with you for fun, you ungrateful, bullheaded nugget.”

“What the hell does that even mean? That I’m a chicken?”

“No, it means that you’re an idiot, idiot.”

“Oh great,” Dean started, turning to Cas. “You hear that? Apparently I’m an idiot.” The angel just sighed and rolled his eyes, and Dean turned back to Rowena. “You know what, witch, just get your petite ass out of my bunker.”

“Gladly,” she spat.

And then she starting heading for the war room, turning her chin up at him. Dean didn’t bother to watch as she left, and the door slammed behind her. He sunk down into a chair and wiped his hands over his face. His headache had been going away, but now it seemed to be coming back in full force.

“That was fun,” he commented sarcastically. “God, I just want to punch something!”

Castiel sat down across from him, still saying nothing.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dean asked, his tone more harsh than he intended.

Without meeting his gaze the angel answered, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

His friend shrugged.

Dean could tell there was something going on, but at the moment he didn’t feel like pressing him. “You know what, fine, don’t tell me.” He stood, coming to a decision. “I’m gonna have to thank Sam for slaughtering those black-eyed sons of bitches. I’m sick of being stuck in here with you.”

After saying those words, he went to his room to grab his keys, not bothering to stick around long enough to see how much he’d just hurt his friend. At the moment he really didn’t care. He was just pissed off about everything; angry at the world for making him and Sam go through even more crap, especially Sam. Why couldn’t his brother catch a damn break? There was currently nothing Dean could do to get his anger out except to direct it at someone, and the only person around whom he could do that to was Castiel. 

When Dean got into the Impala and left the bunker, he didn’t really have any plans in mind. He was just going to drive around, try and clear his head, maybe. Or he could see if there were any bars open already. Surely, some would be open since it was the afternoon.

He supposed it didn’t matter. He just needed to get away from everything for a while.

 

To Sam’s complete surprise, he felt great when he woke up. He wasn’t in any pain, wasn’t tired. It was as if he was finally bouncing back from the hellish week he’d been through. 

_How long have I been asleep?_ he wondered.

His muscles were stiff, suggesting it’d been for a really long time. He stretched, and then checked his phone. He nearly dropped it when he saw the date. He’d been asleep for two whole days!

Instantly, he was out of bed, hurriedly grabbing some clothes so he could go take a shower. But then a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him and he grabbed onto his bureau to keep from falling over.

_Right, food and water should be my first order of business._

As Sam left his room, something felt off. What was it? Without noticing it he felt at his chest, and that was when he realized what was up. The amulet wasn’t there.

Screw eating and drinking, he needed to find that amulet. He rushed back into his room and started frantically searching. He looked through the drawers in his desk, not bothering to close one before opening another, he looked through his bureau, his bedside table, scattered the papers on his desk in the hopes that he would find it. Sam tore his room apart looking for the amulet. There was a pain in his chest, like a hole that was growing wider with each second he went without it. He could hear the wild pace of his own heart, and it was growing faster as panic began to set in.

“No, no,” he muttered to himself, his voice coming out hoarse from lack of use. “It has to be here somewhere. It has to!”

When his search proved fruitless he rushed out into the hallway. “Dean?” he called. “Cas?”

No answer.

“Rowena?”

Still nothing.

_Where the hell are they?_

“Dean!” 

He went to his brother’s bedroom. The door was closed, but he opened it without knocking. If he took the amulet from him… He wasn’t even sure what he’d do.

But his room was empty. The next place Sam checked was the library.

Still no one.

The war room.

Empty.

The kitchen.

Empty.

“Is anybody here?!” he shouted.

No answer.

It was like everyone had just disappeared. 

And his amulet was nowhere to be found.

A scream left him, and he swept his arms across the metal counter, knocking the various bowls and cooking utensils that had been on it onto the floor, where they landed with loud crashes. His vision blurred, and he found himself having to hunch over the counter in order to not fall. He swallowed roughly, the scream having hurt his throat.

Food. He needed food. And water. He couldn’t figure out what was going on until he took care of himself. But he didn’t want to. Finding the amulet felt more important.

However, another dizzy spell overtook Sam when he straightened. It would be impossible to search for the amulet in the state he was in.

He licked his chapped lips as he grabbed a glass from a cabinet, and then filled it up at the sink. He downed that first glass quickly, and then a second one. It wasn’t till he was on his third one that he had the self-control to slow down. After filling it up a fourth time and drinking about half of it, Sam placed the cup on the table, and then went to the fridge to see what they had for food.

The fridge was full, meaning that someone had gone out shopping while he’d been asleep. But Sam was too hungry to make anything elaborate, so, with his stomach growling, he set about making himself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

The eerie silence didn’t sit well with him as he got his food ready. The bunker felt much too empty. It was like something had happened while he’d been asleep, or like he’d woken up in an alternate world. Coming to a decision, Sam made two extra sandwiches and grabbed another plate. He was going to the dungeon to talk with Ivan.

His slave didn’t look as terrible as he’d expected when he got there. His skin wasn’t a sickly pallor like it’d been when he’d last seen him, and the bandages on his legs appeared clean. Clearly someone had been looking after him (most likely Dean). Ivan was lying on a sleeping bag against the wall when Sam came in, and at first Sam thought he was sleeping.

Then, he spoke, and Sam jumped, “Just leave the plate on the table. You can come back for it later.”

“Actually,” Sam began, causing Ivan to open his eyes in surprise at the sound of his voice, “I want to talk to you.”

Ivan sat up and eyed him quizzically. “Sam. I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

He shrugged as he set down Ivan’s plate on the table in the middle of the room. A grunt left his slave as he started dragging himself over to the chair, his legs dangling uselessly behind him. With shaking muscles he hoisted himself into the seat, and then began to eat, the handcuffs seeming to do little to impair him. Sam was starting to regret choosing to eat in here with him. For one, now that Ivan was closer a rather unsavory smell was coming off of him that could only be accomplished by not showering for a solid week, and two, there was only one chair in the room. Sam mentally shrugged and leaned against the wall, holding his plate in one hand, and picking up a sandwich in the other.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Ivan asked.

“The other night, something happened.”

Ivan paused, looking up at him. “You felt it too?”

Sam frowned, and asked, not really caring that there was food in his mouth, “Yeah. That awful pain, right?”

Using the word _pain_ to describe the torture he’d been through the other night felt like a gross understatement, but at the moment there really wasn’t any other way to put it.

Ivan’s unamused laugh showed that he agreed, and he picked up his sandwich again. “Yep.” He took a bite.

Sam finished his first sandwich, and was already working on his second one when Ivan asked, “Do you have the amulet with you?”

Once again he was keenly aware of that hole in his chest, and it was still growing wider, beginning to consume him.

“No. Don’t know where it is.”

“You lost it?!” Ivan suddenly shouted. 

“Hey, don’t blame me. Clearly someone took it from me.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t give it to anyone?”

“Positive. I’m never letting anyone else touch it ever again.”

“Well, you did a splendid job with that.”

Sam had just finished swallowing a bite when Ivan said that, and he stared at him in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked cautiously.

“What happened the other night,” Ivan began, “since it happened to both of us, I’m thinking the only logical explanation is that someone was messing with the amulet.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that, and he continued eating as he worked his slave’s words over in his mind. He made a good point. It would’ve had to have been something to do with the amulet. And he couldn’t find it, so that meant someone had taken it. But who? Sam didn’t suspect Rowena. Sure, she wasn’t exactly worthy of a nicest person of the year award, but he didn’t think she’d willingly mess with the amulet. Even when she’d been working with Dean and Castiel before she’d done so reluctantly. Dean couldn’t have possibly done anything, so that left Castiel.

_But why would Castiel hurt me?_

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

He finished eating before Ivan and put his plate down on the table. “So, Ivan, who was the last person who came to see you?”

“Dean.”

“And that was when?”

He shrugged. “Two hours ago. Maybe three.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

Ivan laughed at that. “He hardly speaks to me. I’m surprised he’s been able to take care of me without beating me to a pulp. I suppose that’s a good thing seeing as you’re pretty much the immortal one now.”

“I’m what?” Sam asked incredulously.

His slave sighed. “Okay, you’re not _fully_ immortal since I do still have some powers left, but right now, you’d be damn near impossible to kill.”

Sam wasn’t sure what he thought of that. Immortality? He’d considered it before, but that was many years ago, and when he had thought that both he and Dean could be immortal. But now it was just him. That didn’t sit well with him at all.

He’d been planning on staying with Ivan until he finished, but what he’d just learned was much more than he could deal with at the moment. He left without saying another word.

Sam got to his room and paced around for nearly a half hour, thinking over what to do, whom to trust. Dean and Cas wouldn’t like that he was becoming immortal. Hell, he wasn’t even fond of it. And he wasn’t sure he could tell Castiel anything about what was going on. He’d hurt him. He had to have. There was no one else. But why? Why would he have done that to him? _Why?_

There was no understanding it, but one thing was clear now. Castiel had the amulet. No one else would have it, and Sam knew he hadn’t lost it. If it were up to him, he’d always have it.

 _But why isn’t it up to me?_ he thought. _It’s mine, it’s my life. Why can’t everybody just leave me the hell alone?_

Feeling defeated, Sam sat down on his bed. He could only wait until Dean and Castiel got back. He hoped Castiel would return. He had to. If not Sam would go hunt him down and make him give him the amulet back. He didn’t care what it took.

But after that, what then? What was he to do?

Thinking that a shower might help him clear his thoughts, Sam grabbed a pair of clothes and went into the bathroom. While under the hot spray of water he let his mind wander, not really focusing on details, knowing that if he went too far down a path he could miss something potentially more important. And then things began to fall into place.

Amongst the darkness of his despair, an idea began to form; an idea that Dean and Castiel would certainly disapprove of. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t their life. It was his, and his alone.

Sam got out of the shower, and hurriedly dried up and put his clothes on. He didn’t even bother to brush his hair, just ran his hands through it. He went to his room, sat at his desk, and turned on his laptop.

He had work to do.


	30. What's Next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's torture begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've had this out sooner, except I had to get some medical testing done that involved my left hand, so I couldn't really type for a few days. Also, just a warning, this chapter contains torture. I can't say if it's mild torture or not though, since I can deal with reading and writing some pretty heavy stuff, I'm not the best at gauging just how intense fictional torture is. Oh, and as I said in the previous chapter, I haven't forgotten Crowley. This chapter is all about Crowley.

“Wow, I must be honored,” Crowley said sarcastically as Vadrach entered the bleak dungeon. It’d been a few days since the False King had paid him a visit. “How are you, Vadrach? Trouble in paradise?”

Despite asking about his wellbeing Crowley could already tell. As he approached him he was able to see the tension in his body that could only come from prolonged stress.

Rather than rising to the taunt as Crowley thought he would the False King simply said, “You’re going to tell me about the Winchesters. Everything you know about their past, abilities, knowledge, what weapons they have at their disposal, and if they have any defenses in place.” His stern tone brooked no room for argument, and Crowley was rather taken aback.

“Vadrach,” Crowley purred, “I had no idea you could be so… dominating. You sure know how to turn a man on.”

“I’m not messing around, Crowley. If you don’t cooperate I’m prepared to go to great lengths to make you talk.”

Crowley gave a small tilt of his head, causing his chains to rattle slightly. What Vadrach was asking him was different from his earlier questions. What had changed?

_The Winchesters. Why would he be asking about the Winchesters? Perhaps that means…_

“I’m guessing the demons you sent to take care of the Winchesters haven’t returned.”

“You don’t need to know why I want this information from you,” he told him, voice controlled in a way that belied underlying anger.

“They haven’t come back, have they?” He laughed. “Let me guess, you’re going to let as many demons get killed as is necessary in order to put the Winchesters down. Who’s putting the lives of demons at risk now, hmm?”

Another laugh left him. He truly was amused. If his assumptions were correct Vadrach was doing a worse job of ruling Hell than he had.

As he continued laughing Vadrach approached him, and promptly shut him up by driving a fist into his gut.

The pain didn’t really bother Crowley, but now he couldn’t get any air in; a shame, really, because he wanted to continue laughing at Vadrach. He just couldn’t help but find the whole situation hilarious. Maybe the solitary confinement was getting to him. His sanity was very questionable already after all.

When he caught his breath he smiled at the False King, who was looking rather fed up with him.

“Mock me if you wish. I’m sure that you won’t be smiling for much longer.” He turned back to the door and called out to demons most likely waiting outside, “All right, bring them in!”

Before he’d even finished speaking the two demons entered the room, suggesting that they were rather eager to torture their former king. The disloyalty was enough to turn Crowley’s stomach. One of them was carrying a rather long length of chains, and shackles, while the other one was carrying what at a first glance appeared to be slippers. Upon further inspection Crowley was able to make out more details; the bottom of the “slippers” where someone’s heels would go had spikes on them which were pointing upwards, and there were lengths of fabric that most likely had the use of attaching the devices to the victim so that they couldn’t kick them off.

“Oh good, are those for me?” Crowley asked, feigning his cheery mood. He knew exactly what those were for.

“As a matter of fact, they are,” Vadrach answered. “You’re quite versed in torture, so I assume I don’t have to go into detail.”

“None at all. You’re going to chain me to the ceiling so that I can’t get away, and then have those lovely looking slippers put on me feet. Then I’ll have to stand on my tiptoes for as long as I can, and when I can’t anymore, the spikes will plunge into my heels.” Crowley explained all of this with a smile on his face.

He had to admit that sometimes he did like pain. It was just such an interesting sensation, but this wasn’t going to be fun at all. Attempting to remain standing on his toes for as long as he could was going to cost him mentally as well as physically. It wouldn’t be enough to break him though.

He rattled his chains. “Well come on, then. Let’s get the show on the road!”

And that they did. In a minute or two he was all set up; chained to the ceiling with his wrists in shackles, shackles around his ankles so he couldn’t move his feet to the sides at all, and the slippers, as he’d decided to call them, were attached to his feet.

The two demons left, and he was all alone with the False King.

“Ah, well this is cozy,” he commented, testing his restraints as he did so.

They were tight, and completely foolproof. Guess he was just going to have to endure this one.

As Vadrach walked around him, examining him with a pleased smile on his face, an idea began to occur to him. One that he wasn’t quite sure he had the guts to follow through with. It’d be interesting to see if he could do it though. But what made it less appealing was that Vadrach would be watching him, and would notice if he failed.

“Just let me know when you start getting tired,” Vadrach told him. “Maybe then you’ll feel like telling me about the Winchesters.”

“I don’t suppose I will,” he responded. “It’s going to take more than a nice, lovely pair of slippers to get me to crack. Thank you by the way, I was getting rather sick of wearing my other shoes.”

Vadrach laughed, but seemed more amused by his own thoughts than what Crowley had said. “Joke if it makes you feel better. It doesn’t change the predicament you’re in.”

“And what predicament is that? The way I see it, I own the room.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “You want information out of me that only I have. So, naturally, this entire thing is my show. You can do what you want to me, but I won’t talk.”

The False King sighed overdramatically, and stopped to stand in front of him. “They all say that.” After a pause, “How are your feet feeling? Getting tired?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, my muscles _are_ beginning to feel a bit strained.

It was true. His feet were hurting, the muscles being used not accustomed to this kind of activity for the amount of time this had already been going on. Crowley’s idea seemed more appealing now. It’d save him the humility of succumbing to this particular form of torture. He’d already been humiliated enough for his liking. And the other option, sharing what he knew about the Winchesters… well, it just wouldn’t do. They were his friends. He couldn’t do that to him. Even the times he had thought that he’d like them dead didn’t mean he’d sell them out now. Besides, they helped him from time to time. And surely they were going to somehow help him escape. 

_But maybe they don’t even know I need help._

_And if they do, do they even care?_

_No, of course they do._

That settled it.

Crowley gave Vadrach a huge smile, and then purposefully lowered his feet to the floor with as much force as he could muster. A shout left him when the spikes punctured his heels, agony flaring to life within him. But then, rather than continue screaming, he started to laugh, broken and wheezing through the pain. He was correct in saying he owned the room. Vadrach couldn’t break him with this particular method if he’d already done it to himself of his own volition.

The other demon’s mouth fell open in shock, and what must have also been awe. For the first time in probably a long time, the False King was speechless.

Crowley simply smiled at him.

“What’s next?”


	31. Enduring and Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vadrach continues to torture Crowley, and the pain causes Crowley to think about some things he'd rather not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to change the rating from Teen And Up Audiences to Mature because of this chapter. I have Vadrach to blame for that. This part contains torture, and no, it's not just torture for the sake of torture. It advances the emotional plot that is very important for Crowley in this story.

What was next turned out to be thin, blunt metal rods that Vadrach planned on forcefully inserting into the tips of Crowley’s fingers using a mallet. Needless to say, Crowley wasn’t very excited. A chair had been brought into the dungeon, and after removing the slippers and shackles Crowley was placed in it, and restrained once more. Thankfully the spikes from his previous torture hadn’t been made of any metal that was meant strictly for harming demons, so he could feel the deep wounds in his heels resealing. His bare feet touched the cold, stone floor, and his skin was slick with his blood.

A rickety old table had also been brought in, and a chair for Vadrach, which he now sat in. And in between them was a tray with the False King’s torture devices on them. Crowley’s wrists had been cuffed and attached to the table through a metal hook, which had been driven through the wood. Next, he’d been forced to have his palms face upward, and he was further restrained by having a leather strap wrap around his forearms and the table, the bindings pulled tight so he couldn’t move.

Vadrach was studying him, but didn’t yet look intent on speaking or getting started.

So Crowley said something. “Do you think silence is going to intimidate me? Why don’t we just get started?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me anything about the Winchesters?”

“I’m sure. You’re a terrible conversationalist.”

Vadrach let out a huff through his nose, and then said, “Then let’s begin.”

“Oh goodie,” Crowley said, feigning excitement.

Vadrach merely gave him a cold smile and then picked up a metal rod. He twirled it in his fingers, examining it.

“Did you know that fingers are really sensitive?” he asked.

“Are we really going to do this?” Crowley questioned tiredly. He already knew that the False King was doing this in an attempt to wear down on him mentally, but since he already knew a lot about torture it wasn’t going to work.

The False King simply quirked an eyebrow at him, and Crowley took it as a sign to continue. “I know you know about torture, and you know I know about torture, so why don’t you stop playing games?”

“I’m not playing games,” he stated simply. “Just wanted to see how much you really know about the craft you claim to be so good at.”

Though Crowley was nervous, he tried not to show it, and instead rolled his eyes.

“Obviously fingers are very sensitive, and so is the face, and so are the feet, and of course the lower back, and then there’s my favorite part, the genitals. Though I’d prefer if you didn’t touch me there, I’m saving it for someone, and you’re not really my type.”

He seemed amused as he took Crowley’s pointer finger into his hand and then pressed the metal rod to the tip of it. As he held it there, he picked up the mallet, and began tapping away.

Crowley’s body seized up at the pain that instantly bombarded him – sharp, and aching. He bit back a scream, and leaned his head back as much as he could, not wanting to look at what was being done to him.

“Oh?” Vadrach questioned. “And who’s that? Someone special?”

“You could… you could say that,” he got out.

And then he finally did scream as the thin metal rod was driven deeper into his finger.

“Anyone I know?” he asked, releasing the metal rod, seeming to think it was deep enough.

Crowley was shaking, pain pulsing from his finger all the way to his wrist. His breath was coming out in gasps as he tried to get used to the agony; it wasn’t about to go away anytime soon, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

“I thought you wanted to ask me about the Winchesters,” he stated.

He didn’t really want to get Vadrach back on target, but at the same time he didn’t want to reveal how he felt about the Winchesters. His heart ached as he thought of the time a little over a year ago when he’d spent six glorious weeks with Dean Winchester. He felt something for Dean. He wouldn’t necessarily call it love, but it was _something_. But at times it turned into hatred; hatred because now he could tell Dean was ashamed about their time together, and that he wanted to forget it. Was he really that terrible?

And then Sam. Sam was on his bucket list, but he knew the younger Winchester would _never_ reciprocate. He had a feeling that what had happened to him in the Cage had changed him forever, and Crowley couldn’t really blame him. If he’d been locked up with Lucifer for 180 years, he’d feel the same way, no doubt. That, and Sam clearly wasn’t interested in men, not in the way Crowley was.

Searing pain flared in his middle finger, and he was drawn back to reality. Back to the cold, lonely dungeon and his torture.

“Oh, I do,” Vadrach told him calmly as he continued to drive the metal into his finger.

An undignified whimper left the former king, and he bowed his head, biting his lip against a scream that was building in his chest. His muscles were rigid as the pain reached farther into him, flaring and bursting through his senses. And the pain in his pointer finger didn’t help any. He just wanted to rip the metal rod out and end his suffering.

But he’d have to endure.

“So, do Sam and Dean possess any special abilities? At least one of them must be out of the ordinary if I haven’t heard back from my demons yet.”

A choked cry left Crowley as the rod was driven deeper with one really sharp tap, the vibrations traveling along his bone, scraping his nerves.

But then he started laughing.

Vadrach let out a wordless snarl, and before Crowley could really comprehend what was happening, another metal rod had been driven into his ring finger, resting just beneath his bones.

Another scream tore from his throat, joining the screaming pain in his hand. It wasn’t just his fingers that were hurting now. The aching and throbbing had traveled downwards, congregating in his palm and wrist.

That was when he had the strange wish for someone to cut his hand off. Of course, such a thought didn’t make sense, but to everything that was unholy, he just wanted this to end.

Pain could be fun, and exhilarating, and interesting, but not when he wasn’t in control.

“Want another one?” Vadrach asked, his lips curled upwards in a cruel smile.

“Yes… please…” Crowley gasped out.

The False King was going to torture him anyway, so Crowley thought he might at least try to gain _some_ control over the situation. But with the intense soreness clouding his mind he couldn’t come up with an effective way to do so.

“Good.”

With that, his little finger was impaled, and the rod had gone in at an odd angle, so that it whacked against his bone, sending an electric-like shock all the way to his elbow. Crowley screamed again, and instinctively pulled at his restraints. He soon regretted it because it changed the pressure around his wrist, causing his hand to throb even more. And then he began to bleed; bright red drops that collected on the edges of the rods before dripping onto the table, and it began to slowly run down his fingers.

He fought as Vadrach continued to hammer the mallet against the torture device.

_Clang._

Another shock of agony.

_Clang._

Sickening pressure.

_Clang._

_Crack._

_Clang._

_Crack._

Screaming.

_Clang._

Startled tears begin to trek down Crowley’s cheeks as he saw the metal protrude through the other side of his little finger, which had no collapsed around the rod like a pool toy that had been pricked with a needle and needed to be re-inflated. Vadrach had driven it straight through his bones!

The appalling sight had Crowley swallowing back bile, and his stomach churned with the wrath of a stormy sea.

Neither of them said anything as another rod was painstakingly inserted into his thumb.

Throbbing, and flaring, and aching. His world was reduced to this excruciating treatment. Nothing else mattered. He couldn’t even remember why he was putting up with this.

What was worth feeling _this_?

Clouds of agony slowly swirled about his brain, making it hard to form coherent thoughts. It grew, and continued to grow. He might’ve been screaming. He wasn’t really sure.

The tension in his muscles began to hurt as they knotted and cramped, and grew tired.

On and on it went, and Crowley no longer bore an understanding of why.

Seconds could’ve passed, or maybe even minutes, or hours. He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was of the existence of the metal rods in his fingers. Their presence in his body was _wrong_ , disturbing, horrifying. But then, the sensations no longer grew.

Throb.

He wanted it to end.

Throb.

If only he could rip the metal out.

Throb.

How long would this go on?

Throb.

Terror was washing through him, his body was shaking, and he glanced at his hands. They looked foreign and alien with the torture devices sticking out of them. His blood had made a small puddle on the table, and it continued to grow with each drop. His fingers were red and swollen, and the little finger on his right hand was just as deformed as the last time he’d checked. Now it was bruising, colors of dark blue, black, and purple marring his skin. Two of the fingers on his left hand had suffered the same fate, the metal sticking out of them, the dark bruises covering them.

Vadrach wiggled one of the rods, the one that was impaled upon his middle finger on his right hand and had gone straight through. A great burning, tearing sensation joined the other hurts in his body, dancing with maddening, sickening glee through him. A choked sob left him, and he hung his head.

“Ready to talk?” the False King asked, his words piercing the veil of torment.

What would he possibly be ready to talk about? What did Vadrach want to know? Tiredly, he searched through his muddled thoughts, but couldn’t find the answer.

“About what?” he questioned, his voice hoarse from all the screaming he’d surely done.

_Have I been screaming?_

As much as he tried, Crowley really couldn’t remember. He must have, for there was no other way to endure _this_.

A cold laugh reached his ears, seeming to caress his skin, and he shuddered. His tired body seemed to scream in protest at the motion, but it really couldn’t be helped.

“Why, about the Winchesters, of course.”

And with that name, two faces surfaced in his memory. A chiseled jaw, freckled skin, green eyes. A tan complexion, broad forehead, dimpled cheeks. Ah, the Winchesters. Maybe they would come rescue him soon.

Then, as if a match had been dropped on a pile of oiled wood, anger burst into life within him. They hadn’t saved him yet. They were the reason he was enduring this. It was their fault they were so damn likeable, that he enjoyed helping them, enjoyed being their friend.

But what had they ever done for him in return? Why did he put up with them? They were just some stupid hunters who had saved the world a couple of times. Big, and dumb, and handsome flannel-wearing imbeciles that he couldn’t help but care about. And he hated them.

“I hate them,” Crowley muttered.

He wasn’t even aware any words had left his mouth until the False King said, “If you truly did hate them then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

It was true. The False King was brainless at times, but he was right about that.

_I’m so weak! Weak, weak, weak, weak, weak…_

Maybe Vadrach had done the right thing in dethroning him. Maybe he was right in torturing him. Maybe he was right in sending demons to kill the Winchesters.

Crowley was useless, and pathetic, and his hate for the Winchesters was redirected at himself.

“I…”

Vadrach leaned in, his breath brushing against Crowley’s face.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”

Pain. Anger. Suffering. Terror. It all joined together into a roiling ball of sensation and emotion, building up in his chest. And then he screamed.

He screamed at the world, Heaven, Hell, Vadrach, the Winchesters, himself. He even screamed at the metal rods in his fingers, finding some way amidst all the chaos in his head to blame them as well, despite the fact that they were inanimate objects.

And then words left him. Words that had been buried in him. Buried beneath jokes, and music, and sex, and blood, and fancy alcoholic drinks.

“I hate myself!”

Once the words left him Crowley began to cry, his body jerking at his restraints with each powerful sob. Through his tears he saw Vadrach lean back in his chair, surprise on his face.

Crowley’s cheeks heated with shame. Shame that he’d admitted something so personal to his enemy, shame that it was true, shame for breaking like this.

The False King simply commented, “That was unexpected.”

“Go suck an egg.”

A snarl left Crowley as Vadrach began to laugh at him.

“I didn’t know you could get this riled up.” More laughter. “Crowley, you are much more entertaining than I thought you’d be. Have anything else you care to say about yourself?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the chair. A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d disgraced himself. Vadrach now knew that he hated himself. Truthfully, Crowley hadn’t even known before this torture session.

He sucked in a breath, as if to will himself to be angry rather than ashamed, and then he growled out, “Bugger off, you dead-brained pansy.”

Throwing insults at the False King was beginning to make him think more clearly, drawing him out of the pain. And then he remembered, that though he’d humiliated himself, he still hadn’t said anything about Sam and Dean.

Crowley smiled.

“What?” Vadrach asked, the way he dragged out the word speaking of his unease.

He opened his puffy, red-rimmed eyes to look at him as he answered. “I still didn’t tell you about the Winchesters.”

Then his body began to shake, and a breathy, heaving sound left him. Currently, he wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying.

“Enough!” Vadrach suddenly yelled, smacking his hand down on the table, and startling Crowley.

He instantly stopped, and a tiny yelp left him as the vibrations traveled through the table to his swollen, mangled hands.

“Do either Sam or Dean possess special abilities?”

Not sure what else to do, Crowley lied, “No.”

Vadrach studied him with narrowed eyes. “Then what about the amulet?”

The same heaving sound left him again, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“You’ve… you’ve already asked me about that.”

The False King frowned, and then reached forward and slammed his hands down against all the rods in his fingers. They moved upward, some scraping against bones, others tearing through flesh, and tendons, and joints.

He screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Fire was consuming his hands, electricity was traveling through his nerves, pain was pounding away at his very existence. His exhaustion somehow made it all the more palpable. There was absolutely no escape from it.

“Tell me about the Winchesters!” Vadrach yelled. “Tell me and this can end!”

His breaths came in panicked, shocked gasps, but he managed to get his scream under control. His whole body quivering, Crowley leaned forward as much as he could while restrained, and spit in Vadrach’s face.

Another cry left him as Vadrach grabbed hold of the rods and ripped them all out. Blood poured form his wounds like mini red waterfalls. And the fire in his hands was joined by ice cold, fighting it. A shiver ran through him, and then he promptly passed out.

Crowley came to a few seconds later with Vadrach’s face a mere inch away form his, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bulging from his fury.

“Talk!” he commanded. “Talk!”

When he didn’t say anything, only leaned his head back against the chair in exhaustion, Vadrach stood. The False King grabbed his own chair and threw it against the wall, where it broke into splintering pieces. His motions quick and fueled with frustration, he went over and picked up a piece that had been part of the chair leg just a few seconds ago. The end was sharp and pointed.

His breath refused to come to him as the False King stalked back over and stabbed it down into his hand.

“Talk! _Talk!_ ”

It went on like that for what might have been minutes, each word punctuated with a powerful stab to his hand. Crowley couldn’t even breathe as a new kind of pain washed through him. The cuts in his fingers had already closed, and his bones had mended themselves (albeit crookedly), and his healing would start up where he was stabbed, only to be interrupted again and again.

With one final stab, and wordless shout, Vadrach stepped back, breathing hard, his eyes now as black as a raven’s feather.

A deep groan left Crowley as his mind began to make sense of this new torment.

“Fine,” the False King huffed. “I’ll come back later. Maybe you’ll be willing to talk then.”

He left the room in a whirlwind of rage, and the metal door slammed shut behind him. Then he heard him shout an order, “Get in there and clean up the mess! And don’t bother to make that pathetic excuse for a demon comfortable!” Then, he went on in a quieter voice – so quiet that Crowley barely made the words out – “I want him to suffer.”

The two demons from earlier entered the room, and as they did, Crowley could hear the False King’s footsteps retreating up the steps.

The remnants of Vadrach’s chair were cleaned up without the demons paying him any head, as if he were invisible. But Crowley endured it, and he’d continue to endure.

Pain was a cruel mistress, but one he was familiar with. He could endure that, but he had his doubts about enduring the turmoil within himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter I go back to Sam, and he's going to do something very shocking.


	32. What Are We?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel start working on rescuing Crowley, and Sam is driven to a rather extreme point.

On the first day when Sam didn’t wake up, Dean wasn’t too worried. Sure, he didn’t really have any way to make sure he got food, and finding a way to keep him hydrated was difficult. But Sam would be okay. He always was. And Castiel seemed to think that if he didn’t have anything to do he would crawl back into a bottle. He supposed his friend wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t exactly crossed Dean’s mind, but having more to drink wasn’t such a terrible idea.

So after talking with Castiel they came up with a plan to start helping Crowley. If they wanted to rescue him they needed to know the situation in Hell. The angels were doing some talking on angel radio, but it would be better to get information right from the source. So on that first day that Sam didn’t wake up, Dean and Castiel went out and captured themselves a demon. 

Torturing him had relieved some of Dean’s pent up frustration over everything that was happening, but in a way, it made him even more frustrated because they didn’t get any information out of him. But it _had_ made him feel some contentment. He recognized that torture making him feel better wasn’t a healthy reaction, but for now, it really didn’t matter. Dean knew he was screwed up, so it was best to just roll with it.

The next day, Sam still hadn’t woken up. So after doing what he could to take care of him, and getting Ivan some food and water so he wouldn’t die on him, he went out again with Castiel. This demon proved to be a little more helpful, though it took shattering her elbows to get her to talk. Apparently Vadrach had Crowley locked up and was torturing him for information about him and Sam. That didn’t sit well with Dean, but right now, with Sam currently out of commission there wasn’t a whole lot that he could do. And Castiel had warned him that Vadrach seemed to have more of a crooked crown than Crowley, and in his experience with Crowley, that was saying something.

“So what now?” Dean grumbled as he drove back to the bunker, Castiel in the passenger seat. “We find more demons to torture?”

Castiel seemed subdued, and some silence passed before he answered, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Dean shot back. “Buddy, what’s been going on with you? You’ve been acting weird these past few days.”

“Nothing,” he responded. “Just worried.”

“Yeah, man, me too.”

He believed that Castiel was worried. Hell, who wouldn’t be? But still, there was something going on with him. However, Dean didn’t feel like trying to get him to talk. He’d already spent enough time trying to get people to talk, so if Cas wanted to keep something to himself, then he wasn’t going to push him… for now.

“Maybe if Sam’s awake we could start drawing up plans,” he mused.

“Or maybe we shouldn’t,” the angel suggested.

“Why not?”

“What if he’s not up for it?”

Dean barked a laugh at that. “Come on, man, this is Sam we’re talking about. He’ll be up for it. Sure, he’s got all that crap with his stupid slave, but maybe killing a few demons will put a smile on his face. I know it’d put a smile on mine.”

“Maybe.”

Castiel’s odd behavior irked him, so for now he just decided to drop the conversation. Talking to him wasn’t exactly making him feel any better, and it wasn’t helping him either.

 _I’ll torture just one more demon before drawing up plans,_ Dean decided. He didn’t think he needed to torture any more demons, but hurting those that deserved it felt pretty damn good.

Part of him worried that that was left over from the Mark of Cain, but maybe not. Maybe it was just _him_. Then again, the Mark had screwed up Lucifer.

A shudder ran through Dean as he thought of that particular archangel. And then heat rushed through him and he got the sudden urge to punch something.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t think about Lucifer, but it did make him question if the Mark had permanently changed him as it had the Devil. It was something Dean didn’t like to give a lot of thought to, but maybe it did hold some grain of truth. If the Mark had changed Lucifer, an _archangel_ , then why would it not change him? Surely as a human he’d been more susceptible to its power, had fallen deeper into the hold it had over those who bore it. For one, torturing was definitely something he enjoyed… more than he had before. But no, he didn’t really want those thoughts to go that far. Comparing himself to the Devil was ridiculous. He couldn’t be _that_ screwed up. He’d met some sick son of bitches in his life, and Dean didn’t like to think that he was one of them.

_But what if I am?_

Then why would an angel hang out with him?

He glanced at Cas, who seemed deep in his own thoughts, and Dean really didn’t feel like asking him about it. That particular conversation would probably get emotional, and that wasn’t something he wanted to do.

Emotions were complicated. Too complicated. And he didn’t like them one bit.

To distract himself from the odd and unwelcome feelings his speculations had surfaced, he turned on the radio. As he started singing along to Led Zeppelin’s “Traveling Riverside Blues” any thoughts about torture or the Mark of Cain left his mind, and he just focused on the music.

Castiel didn’t say anything the rest of the ride, and neither did Dean. Despite being in the other’s company, both were lost in their own worlds.

When Dean got back to the bunker the first thing he did was go to the kitchen. If Sam was awake he’d say something about how he should probably clean all the blood off of himself first before getting food, but Dean was hungry. Satisfying that particular need came before hygiene in his book.

At first he’d gone directly to the fridge, ignoring all else in the room. It wasn’t till he’d grabbed some ingredients to make a few cheeseburgers and had placed them on the counter, that he noticed the various utensils and pans strewn across the floor.

_What the hell?_

“Hey, Cas?” Dean called, figuring his friend was still in the war room where he’d sat himself down with a despondent look upon arriving. “Cas, I think Sam’s up.”

The angel was by his side in a matter of seconds, and he looked down at the mess with him.

“He definitely is.”

Dean wondered what kind of state his brother was in if he had caused that. Something was up. Was he angry? Frightened? His stomach clenched with anxiety, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to find out what was going on.

He rushed out into the war room, Cas on his heels.

“Sam!”

No answer. So he traveled deeper into the bunker, and called his brother’s name again. It wasn’t till he was about to go into the hallway that led to their bedrooms that he saw him. Despite having been asleep for two days Sam looked pretty good. He came over and gave Dean a warm hug.

When he pulled back, Dean rescinded what he’d thought about his brother looking good. His eyes were off.

Dean turned to Cas, jaw clenched, as Sam went towards him. Somehow he had to warn his friend.

But warn him about what?

After all, this was just Sam.

That didn’t change the way an anxious tingle ran along his spine as his brother leaned over and gave Cas a hug. When he pulled back the tension still didn’t leave his muscles.

And then, quick as lightning, Castiel’s angel blade was in his brother’s hand, and he had the edge of it pointed right at his throat. He must’ve grabbed it from his coat while giving him a hug.

“Sam, what the-” Dean started, but Sam interrupted him.

“Cas, where’s the amulet?” he asked, his voice even, his eyes smoldering.

Dean glanced over at him, confusion etched on his face. “Cas?”

“I…”

“Don’t make me ask again,” Sam warned.

Dean approached Sam, his hand out to take the blade from him, but then his brother turned it on him, and his gaze didn’t soften. His heart in his throat, Dean took a step back, raising his hands slowly.

“Sam, put the blade down. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he spat out. “Castiel took the amulet from me.”

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend, and Cas looked away from him.

“Why?” he asked him, thoroughly confused.

“Who cares?” Sam said, turning back to Castiel. “None of that matters. I just want it back.”

“I… I don’t have it anymore,” the angel got out.

Sam took a step towards him, and Dean’s heart seemed to stop when the blade pressed against his friend’s throat.

“Sam…”

“Shut up!” his brother snapped at him, his focus still on Cas. “ _Where. Is it?_ ”

Dean took a step forward again, and this time Sam remained still, his terrifying, stone-cold focus on Castiel. He risked putting a hand gently on his arm, trying to get him to lower it. Even just from his light touch he could feel the tension coiled in his brother’s muscles. Sam wasn’t messing around.

“Look, just put the knife down. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Dean, stay out of this.”

“You know what? No! You happen to have a knife against _our_ best friend’s throat! I don’t think that’s something I can stay out of.”

Castiel still said nothing, and swallowed roughly. The motion made the blade press into his skin, and there was a shimmer of blue light and then a line of blood was traveling down the skin of his neck. 

“This is between me and Cas,” he growled out, finally looking at him again.

In a way, Dean regretted it. His eyes were terrifying. Cold, and hard, but fiery all at the same time, and the depths were violent, like he was fighting through a million emotions. And he was losing.

He brushed Dean’s hand off of him, and glared till he decided maybe it’d be safer to take a step back. His adrenaline was kicking in, making him feel jumpy, exactly like he’d feel before a fight. The feeling was unwanted, especially since it entailed that he might have to fight his little brother.

“Sam, what are you gonna do to him?” Dean questioned. “You’re not gonna hurt him. Just put the knife down. Please.”

Something sparked in Sam’s eyes at his words, and Dean’s stomach dropped to his feet.

His head snapped back to Cas, and he shouted, “Where is it?!”

He saw the way Cas’ entire body tensed from Sam’s attention being back on him. “I buried it,” he finally answered, and then he repeated in a quieter voice, “I buried it.”

“Take me to it.”

“Sam,” Castiel started, “maybe it’s best if-”

In the blink of an eye Sam slashed his arm downwards, and the blade tore through Cas’s forearm. As if on instinct, Dean rushed forward, tackling Sam to the floor, but the blade remained in his hand. 

He slammed him back against the floor as he fought with him desperately. “Sam, stop!” he bellowed. “ _Stop!_ ”

But his brother didn’t listen. He simply punched him, pain flaring through his jaw, and then pushed him off of him. As he got up and stepped away from him Dean reached out and grabbed his ankle. Sam tripped, but he kicked out at Dean, hitting him squarely in the nose.

A cry left him, and Sam managed to wrest himself from his grip. He sprang to his feet, and grabbed Castiel, twisting him around before wrapping his arm around him. With the other he placed the angel blade against his throat once more. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel didn’t fight back. At all. He just stood there, willing to take whatever Sam was going to do to him.

“Take me to the amulet,” his brother told him in a low voice. “And if you refuse, well, I’m sure you know I could do a splendid job of convincing you.”

Dean was too shocked by the sudden turn of events to do anything, and he feared that if he moved Sam would plunge the blade into Cas, killing him. His heart raced, pounding painfully against his chest, and his blood rushed in his ears. Watching this caused his mouth to go dry, and he swallowed roughly. He wanted to say something, but what? And would Sam even listen?

No, he wouldn’t. Not in this state.

“I’ll take you to it.”

“Good. Dean, keys.”

When Dean didn’t react at first, Sam shouted, “Keys!”

“Y-yeah, okay.” 

Worrying too much for Cas’ safety than anything else Dean did what Sam said, pulling the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. He tossed them to Sam, and without even needing to look, his brother caught them.

And then he slowly walked Cas out of the bunker.

And Dean hated himself for not doing a single thing to stop him.

 

Sam hoped his actions didn’t move up his other plans, seeing as he wasn’t quite ready to execute them yet. In all honesty, he thought getting the amulet would have been more difficult, but Castiel didn’t even fight. For some reason he seemed to have accepted the situation. Once they’d gotten in the car, and had gone a few miles, Sam realized that he didn’t even need to have the angel blade on him to get him to cooperate. It almost put him off, made him not carry through. But he still had to. His chest ached fiercely, and it felt like all his nerves were frayed. He _needed_ the amulet, _now_.

“Turn left here,” Cas instructed.

As he did so something occurred to him. Maybe Castiel was feeling guilty about the other night.

Sam knew it was him who’d somehow tortured him. It couldn’t have been anyone else, so he felt confident when he stated, “You hurt me the other night.”

His best friend answered in a broken voice, “Yes, I did.”

“Why?” he questioned in a clipped tone.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Didn’t mean to? How could someone hurt him to such a degree and not have _meant it_? But if that wasn’t true, then that would mean Cas had wanted to hurt him, and that didn’t make much sense either.

“Sam, I’m truly, _truly_ sorry for causing you more suffering. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Is that why you’re cooperating?” he asked, thinking he had it figured out.

The tension in the car was thick as he responded, “Yes.”

His voice quivered with the slightest hint of fear, meaning that there was a lie to his answer. But Sam didn’t blame him. He knew back in the bunker he’d been frightening. That had been his intention.

Though, he didn’t like that things had gone too far. When he’d grabbed the angel blade while hugging Castiel he hadn’t planned on hurting him, and he hadn’t planned on hurting Dean either. He nearly stopped the car in alarm when he realized that. How had it all gone so wrong?

_What am I becoming?_

Sam closed his eyes for a second, and took in a breath, letting it out slowly through his nose.

“So, you were screwing with the amulet.”

“I thought that maybe I could help you.”

Sam gave a laugh devoid of humor. “ _Really_ , Cas? You thought you could help me? Haven’t you realized that this entire situation is so god damn helpless? You know what, if that’s what your help is like, then maybe you shouldn’t have tried anything at all. Whenever you try to help you screw things up, you know that? Have you ever considered that we don’t want your help, or that maybe you should just stop?”

Sam was too embroiled in his own emotions – anger, and pain, and excitement at getting close to the amulet, and a strange impending sense of doom – to really think about what he’d just said to his best friend. But when he glanced at him, he knew his words had hurt, and they’d cut more deeply than any blade ever could.

 

Castiel swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat from Sam’s words, and he cursed the pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. In a way, wasn’t he right? He always messed up. _Always_. He couldn’t do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

Before, it was his guilt over hurting Sam that had resigned him to giving him directions to the amulet, but now it was his helplessness. In the face of danger, when his friends needed him, Castiel couldn’t do anything. There was nothing he could do to get them out of this situation, and there was nothing he’d been able to do to help them in the past. He was completely, and utterly useless.

So useless.

And all this time he’d been trying to be more than that. But he’d failed. Again.

_Maybe I’ll always fail._

As he kept giving Sam instructions and they got closer and closer to the amulet, Castiel began to feel worse and worse. He was a pathetic excuse for an angel, a pathetic excuse for a soldier, a pathetic excuse for a friend.

How had he become _this_?

What good was he if he couldn’t help Sam out of this, if he couldn’t help Crowley, couldn’t properly support Dean? All he felt was weakness, and guilt.

 _Who_ am _I_? he thought. He certainly wasn’t anything he had once thought he’d been, or anything he wanted to be. He was nothing.

Once he and Sam had finally arrived at the destination – a mile marker along the road a half hour out of Lebanon – he sat in the Impala, not even bothering to help Sam dig up the artifact. At this point the younger Winchester didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t helping him. Now that he was close to the amulet, a sort of frenzy seemed to have taken over him, and his hazel eyes were wild.

Castiel watched, a sinking feeling forming in his gut, as Sam found the evil artifact, placed it around his neck, and closed his eyes peacefully, as if he’d come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I'm really eager to hear what you all think of it.


	33. How Did It All Go So Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out a little bit about what Sam's up to. Sam returns to the bunker with Castiel, and an argument ensues.

After Sam left with Castiel, Dean remained where he was, lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. How had this happened? How had it all gone so wrong? He knew Sam was a bit of a loose cannon these days, but this? Actually hurting Cas over some stupid amulet? Well, apparently it wasn’t stupid to his brother.

A groan left him as his face began to throb, an unfortunate reminder that it wasn’t just Cas who Sam had hurt.

Dean was also confused about when or why Castiel had buried it. Maybe he’d done it right after Rowena had left the bunker. Or he could’ve done it at night when he was sleeping. And, Dean realized, in his own way he’d helped him with it because he’d driven out to have Cas pick up his car from where he’d left it the other night. Still, it wasn’t like Dean kept a close eye on him, he trusted him. And then he’d gone and done something that would set Sam off. But that didn’t mean Sam had the right to hurt him. 

Right now, with the way Dean was feeling, he wanted to go out and kill something.

But to his knowledge, there was nothing around to kill. 

God, it was all such a mess. Would this change things, change how the three of them worked? His rational mind told him, that yes, it would, but irrationally, he didn’t want it too. Anger filled him like a raging fire, but so did confusion, along with sadness. He cared about both Sam and Castiel, and if they were going to help Crowley, they all needed to work together. Maybe for the greater good they could put their differences aside for now.

That sounded pathetic even to him. But maybe it was the greater good. They couldn’t allow Vadrach to continue ruling Hell. That bastard had something planned. He just knew it. And besides, it wouldn’t be that fun to have demons on his tail wherever he went. With Crowley as king again that wouldn’t happen.

Dean finally picked himself up from the floor and stretched himself out. He thought that maybe now he could think rationally, but that all left when he saw a few drops of bright red blood on the floor. Castiel’s blood. 

A powerful, cold sensation settled in him, and he recognized it as shock. How the hell had the events of the past few days caused this to happen? It boggled Dean’s mind that in just a week’s time his brother had been driven to such lengths. And right now he was dangerous, so it wasn’t like Dean could talk to him about it. Besides, Sam would never want to.

He wished that he could’ve done something to stop Sam. He was supposed to take care of him, yet he hadn’t been able to keep him from becoming the fearful, desperate, and broken person he now was. It almost reminded Dean of the demon blood all over again, but this time, this time he’d tried to understand, and he wanted to help him. He truly did. But how could he? Sam didn’t want to be helped.

As Dean stood there, feeling very alone, he couldn’t help but think that he’d failed his brother, but somehow, somehow he had to save him.

To try and get a better understanding of what exactly was going on with Sam, Dean decided to go search his room, see if he could find anything. Sam wouldn’t approve, but Dean didn’t give a crap. His brother had already crossed a line, so it was his turn to cross some lines of his own.

The state of Sam’s room was shocking. Usually his brother kept things neat and orderly, but there were clothes thrown on the floor, papers strewn about on his desk, his bed. Drawers were lying open, the contents all jumbled.

Since this was so unlike Sam, Dean’s first thought was that someone had somehow gotten into the bunker and gone through his brother’s things. But no, Sam had been in there. He remembered the desperate, nearly crazed look in his brother’s eyes as he pointed the angel blade at Castiel. He’d done this. He’d made this mess, most likely while searching for the amulet. It frightened him that one artifact had such a hold over his little brother.

Dean started going through the papers, careful to memorize exactly where he’d found them before picking them up (if this all turned out to be pointless, the last thing he needed was for Sam to know he’d been in there). A lot of the papers were Sam’s own notes about mythology and lore, a few were about finished cases that he probably kept for future references, and there were a few smaller pages ripped from a notepad that had telephone numbers written on them or shopping lists. None of the papers actually seemed that new, so Dean disregarded the phone numbers. They were probably just something Sam kept even though he didn’t need them anymore. 

One of the papers caught his eye because he saw his name on it. After taking note of where it’d been amongst the mess he lifted it up to study it. Despite how hurt he was feeling, what was written on the paper made him smile. It was a list of songs that Sam had been planning on showing him. He actually recognized some of them as he went through the list, and had thought of Sam when he’d listened to them. It was touching to know his brother had shared a similar mindset about them.

Slowly, Dean placed it back where he’d found it, and then he found himself sniffling. His face was a little wet, so he brushed whatever it was away with his thumb. At first he’d assumed it would be blood (Sam _had_ kicked him pretty hard), but looking at the translucent, wet glisten on his finger, he knew it was a tear, a single tear.

He took in a shaky breath and resumed his search.

Everything else proved unimportant, so next he decided to try his brother’s laptop. It was on his desk, and closed, but the softly blinking light on the side let him know that it was on. That meant that Sam had been using it.

Dean sat down at the desk and opened up the laptop. There was a prompt for him to put in the password, so he had to stop and think.

Sure, he had a few hacking tricks he’d learned a few years ago, but he suspected he wouldn’t need them. This was Sam. He knew him.

Dean brushed aside the stray thought that he didn’t seem to know him anymore – which stemmed from not having foreseen his actions from over a half hour ago – and got to work.

_Okay… If I were Sam what would my password be?_

An idea came to him, and he quickly typed it in. After hitting enter, thinking that maybe he’d be triumphant, the password was highlighted and the bar on the screen wavered back and forth, and he was still locked out.

 _I guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t put my birthday,_ Dean thought. _It’s too simple a password._

Dean _knew_ Sam wouldn’t have put his own birthday. His brother had never really liked his birthday, especially in more recent years. Sometimes for Sam’s sake he acted like his birthday was just any regular day. Making a big deal out of it always put Sam in a low mood, and it usually took him a while to come out of it.

Next, Dean turned to what he liked. 

_He’s a bit of a nerd._

A ghost of a smile appeared on Dean’s face at that thought. Whenever he called Sam a nerd his brother would always insist that, no, he wasn’t a nerd he was a geek. And then he’d accuse Dean of being one too. Sam was right about that one.

So Dean tried all sorts of things. Sam’s favorite characters from TV shows and movies, Sam’s favorite authors, favorite books, but nothing fit. Maybe he still remembered those times when he’d first gotten back into hunting, and Dean had borrowed his laptop for watching porn. He sighed. Things were much simpler then. Of course, if someone had told him his life was going to get this crazy he wouldn’t have believed them, but here he was trying to get into his brother’s laptop while he was out with their best friend who he’d injured just so he could get a dangerous artifact. With a shake of his head he went back to what he was doing.

After a while he came to the conclusion that there wasn’t anything left to try, so he resigned himself to hacking into his laptop. He went to his bedroom to retrieve his own laptop, and then he settled back down at Sam’s desk.

It took all of five minutes to hack in, and that was when he realized that Sam was smart enough to have a random string of symbols, numbers, and letters as his password. Huh, he was going to have to try that. It’d be better than what he had; a mix of Sam’s initials and Cas’ single initial, Sam’s birthday, and the day he’d met Cas. They were both equally important to him, so it was something he could easily remember. But Sam’s method _did_ make more sense.

Sam hadn’t closed what he’d been working on – _guess he wasn’t expecting me to come back yet_ – so it worked to his advantage. What he found was that Sam was applying for a credit card, which Dean didn’t understand since they already had enough money at the moment. But then he saw the name on the application: _Ivan Rhodes_.

_What the hell?_

Dean’s search was interrupted by a creak, like that of a metal door being pushed open, and then a slam.

Sam was back.

He hoped to everything that mattered that Cas was with him, and hadn’t come to further harm.

Dean closed Sam’s laptop, grabbed his own, and quickly deposited it in his room before rushing out to the war room. Sam was coming down the stairs with Cas behind him, his head down. He couldn’t help but notice that the amulet was around his brother’s neck again, where he thought it belonged.

The blood on Castiel’s sleeve was now dry, and there was a small red trail on his neck that had traveled down to stain his white collar. As Dean approached him, he searched for more injuries, but couldn’t find any. Not particularly caring for Sam right now, just relieved that his brother hadn’t done anything else to their best friend, Dean brushed past him and wrapped his arms around Castiel in a tight hug.

At first Cas didn’t hug back. If it had been anyone else Dean wouldn’t think too much of it, but he knew Cas, and when it came to him he was always quick to hug back. Was it possible that Sam _had_ done something else to him?

Eventually the angel’s arms wrapped around him, and his hands clutched tightly at his flannel shirt. 

As Dean pulled away he asked, “Are you okay?”

He nodded, and that was when Dean allowed himself to turn his attention to Sam. His brother had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he’d been waiting till their exchange was over to say something. Dean stomped down the stairs right up to him. They made eye contact, and the guilt was evident in Sam’s eyes. But guilt didn’t change what he’d done. 

Without even thinking about it Dean made a fist and slammed it into Sam’s jaw. His brother stumbled backwards off the last step. When he caught his balance he placed a hand to where he’d been hit.

“What were you thinking?!” he cried out, coming forward and hitting him with another fierce blow. “Hurting Castiel for some mojo on a chain?!” He punched him again.

And then Dean couldn’t stop punching him. He’d gotten Sam backed up against the wall, and he landed hit after hit on him, Sam grunting in pain. His vision seemed to be going red, and he was becoming blinded with his anger. For a while there was nothing but the red, his blood pumping fiercely, and blows which he assailed upon Sam.

He must’ve had a long pause between a particular hit because Sam had just enough time to duck out of the way. And then he grabbed Dean, turning and slamming him back against the wall. As he caught his breath he began to see what he had done. There were multiple cuts on Sam’s already swelling face: one on his lip, two along his left cheekbone, and one on his brow bone. Sadness tried to overpower him, but Dean kept a tight lid on it. Right now he didn’t have time to feel sorry for what he’d done.

Sam opened his mouth a fraction as if he was going to say something, but then he paused, staring intently at his neck.

“Uh… Sammy, what are you doing?” he questioned, now thoroughly uncomfortable. 

The moment was strange enough to make him forget about any sadness or anger. Now he just wanted his brother to stop looking at him like that. There was a strange light in Sam’s eyes, something akin to hunger. A chill ran through him, and his heart began to beat rapidly with fear from not being able to possibly conceive what was going on.

“Sam?” Castiel finally called, making his way down the steps towards them.

Sam licked his lips, and then his eyes met Dean’s again. And just like that the moment had passed.

“You have demon blood on you,” he stated before releasing him with shaking hands.

Starting to feel more like he had before, Dean snapped at him while he backed away, “A+ observation, Sam. Now, you care to explain yourself?”

He clenched his jaw, staring him down. “No.”

“No?!”

“I’m done trying to explain myself to you! If you don’t understand now, you’re never going to!”

Dean became further enraged at that. All he’d been doing since Sam had found the amulet was try to understand. How could he even hope to understand if Sam didn’t want to talk to him? 

“I’ve been trying my damned hardest to understand!” he shouted. “And for the most part I get it. But that doesn’t give you the right to hurt Cas!”

Castiel descended the staircase, coming to stand beside him. 

It was then that he decided to butt in on their argument. “It’s not that big a deal.”

Dean turned to him, incredulity written all over his face. How could Castiel go and say that? He’d been worried sick about him, and now he said it wasn’t that big a deal? “ _Excuse me?_ Not that big a deal? I’m pretty sure my brother, _your_ friend, putting a knife to your throat is a pretty big deal. Speaking of which…” He turned to Sam, addressing him now, “Sam, do you still have the angel blade?”

Castiel answered for him, “He gave it back to me.”

Dean glanced back at him, raising his eyebrows in a fashion that clearly asked, _when?_

“It was right before we came in,” the angel replied to his unspoken question.

Now that he knew his brother was currently unarmed Dean felt safer. If Sam had the urge to hurt them it’d be more difficult this time around. They turned their gazes to him, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

Sam bowed his head as if to collect himself before looking back up and saying quietly, “I didn’t mean for things to go as far as they did.”

At the moment, Dean didn’t give a flying fuck that Sam hadn’t meant for things to play out the way they had. The way he saw it, when you pointed a weapon at someone, you almost always intended to use it.

“Well they did!” he shouted at him, unable to control his anger now that he was able to properly take it out on him (apparently punching him hadn’t been enough to calm him down). “There’s no taking that back!”

Sam took a step closer to him, and Castiel visibly tensed. “Yeah, well you’ve done some things yourself that couldn’t be taken back! You’ve done a lot of stupid things, Dean.”

Now it was his turn to take a step forward. “Hey, I’m not the one who threatened and hurt our best friend just so I could go find an amulet.”

Dean had thought Sam had raised his voice before, but now he really did, his words coming out at an impossible volume, “I need it!” Pure desperation was in his brother’s wide eyes, and beneath that, fear.

“Why? Why could you possibly need it?”

Sam gathered his breath from his sudden outburst, and then heaved out a sigh. And then he turned from them, seemingly intending to walk away.

“I’m not doing this,” he muttered.

“Doing what?” Dean called to him.

Sam whirled on him, the desperation now buried beneath his own anger. “I’m not explaining _anything_ to you. You already know much more about my life than I ever wanted you to, so anything else is off the table.”

“But, Sam,” Castiel intoned, “we’re your family.”

Now Sam’s focus was on him, and the look in his eyes made Dean uneasy.

“Yeah?” he questioned, his tone harsh. “Then why’d you bury the amulet?”

Before Dean could open his mouth to defend Cas he was already explaining, “I wanted to protect you! You’re driving yourself to the ground, digging yourself a hole that I’m not even sure you’ll be able to climb out of.”

Sam huffed out an unamused laugh. “What, so you’re scared of what I’m becoming?”

 _What kind of question_ is _that?_ Dean thought. It was as if Sam couldn’t even see what was happening to him. 

“Yes!” he cried out.

Sam drew closer to the two of them, stopping when there was a foot of space in between them.

“You know what I’m becoming?” he asked. “Strong.”

“What does that matter? We have each other!”

Why couldn’t Sam see? Was he that afraid? Did he really feel that weak, that helpless? 

An ache formed in Dean’s chest at the thought, and the ache continued to grow as his little brother spoke. “No, we don’t. I didn’t have you when you were in Hell, I didn’t have you when I was in the Cage, I didn’t have you when you were in Purgatory, and I didn’t have you when Crowley turned you into a demon. And if that’s not enough proof for you, let’s talk about the time you betrayed my trust by letting some psycho angel possess me without my consent. Do you even know how violated that made me feel?! Sometimes when I think about it too much I realize that in a way, it was worse than when I got raped. He was in my _body_ , in my _head_. He knew _everything_ about me. _Everything_. And for the longest time, I couldn’t even trust you. _You_ , my _own brother_.”

Guilt that Dean had thought he’d successfully buried welled up inside him, weighing him down till he was unsure how he was even standing. But more than that, he was furious that Sam had even brought that up.

“I’ve apologized for that like a million times, okay? What’s even the point? I think I learned from that god awful decision.”

“If it’s any consolation, Sam, I understand why that still bothers you.”

Dean shot a glare at Castiel. “What, so you’re on his side now?”

“There are no sides for me to choose from!” Castiel growled out. “Despite what Sam did today, I still stand with both of you. We have a bigger problem than Sam hurting me. We need to rescue Crowley before Vadrach can get any information about the two of you out of him. So you’re both going to shut up, forget that anything even happened, and work together! Once we figure out how to save Crowley, then we can discuss the amulet further. I don’t like what happened any more than you do, Dean, but Sam isn’t our biggest problem right now.

At first he’d been startled that Cas had raised his voice at them, but now all he could do was look upon him with rebellious sparks in his eyes. If only forgetting what Sam had done under an hour ago was as easy as he made it sound.

“Gee, thanks,” Sam muttered. “I just love being a problem.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Cas told him, the words coming out so fast it almost came across as rude.

“Then what did you mean?”

A sigh left the angel. “I don’t wish to argue with you any further.”

“Well I do,” Sam started, “because I’m still having a hard time seeing the full picture. What gave you the right to take the amulet from me in the first place? What gave you the right to tamper with it? I didn’t agree to that! I didn’t agree to any of this, okay?! I’m just trying to do what I can to get out of a fucked up situation, and nothing either you or Dean have tried has helped me. You should just let me handle something on my own for god damn once.”

“And you’re doing a fantastic job with that,” Dean snapped, the higher pitch in his voice making his words properly sardonic.

Sam saw it as a challenge. “Yeah? Like you could do any better.”

“Anyone would want a way out of your situation,” Cas began, speaking to Sam, “but this is harming you.”

Sam glanced between the two of them, seeming to think over what had been said. But then one word left his mouth, one word and Dean was brought back to the absolutely frightening moment when he’d interrupted his little brother while he’d been attempting to complete the final Trial. And he remembered the pained, somber, exhausted look in his eyes, as he said the same exact word. “So?” And in that instant his rage turned to fear and worry. Was Sam so lost that he might contemplate ending his life again? But then, his worry receded when Sam went on, “This is more than just a way out. It’s _so much_ more than that.”

Dean closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, but it was shaky. This conversation was bringing him through such a whirlwind of emotions that seemed to be changing so rapidly he thought he might get whiplash.

When he opened his eyes again, he asked in as calm a voice he could muster (which he didn’t end up being very successful at), “Then what is this about?”

Sam paused, and looked as if he was deliberating about whether he should walk away or not.

“Enlighten me!”

Something flared in Sam’s hazel eyes, and then he explained, “It’s about getting some damn control over my own miserable life! That _right_ has been taken from me at every turn, but not anymore. I’m done.”

“Done? With what?”

Sam spread his arms out as he shouted, “This! All of this!”

“I don’t even know what _this_ is!”

Sam mumbled something to himself that sounded a bit like, “Of course you don’t,” and then he went on in a louder voice, “It’s you jumping to conclusions about my every intentions, it’s you not giving me a chance!”

“Hey, I gave you a chance. You blew it the _instant_ you pulled a knife on Cas. And you know what, maybe if you’d just talk to me, I’d get it.”

He looked away, tears glistening in his eyes, and a harsh laugh left him. “Yeah, like that’s worked before. Why would I even want to talk to you about any of the shit I’ve been through?” He lifted his head up again, an accusing glare fixed on him. “You know what you do whenever I bring any of that crap up? You _joke_ about it, Dean! You…” he faltered, his voice trembling and cracking as a sob attempted to break through, “you act like you don’t even care.”

Yep. He was calling it. Now he definitely had the emotional equivalent of whiplash. Sam was right in saying that he didn’t make it easy to approach him, but Dean was like that because he cared _too_ much. He didn’t know how to cope with all that his brother had been through. Knowing that he’d suffered such great evils hurt like nothing else could, so he tried to make light of it for his own sake.

But for Sam to think that he didn’t care about him? He couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Well I do care, okay?!”

“Both of you, stop it!” Castiel shouted at them.

He growled out, “Not now, Cas.”

At the same time, Sam yelled, “Shut up!”

Thinking that Cas might listen to them, Dean went on. “I do care, which is why I’m gonna ask you this next thing: what the _hell_ are you doing applying for a credit card under Ivan’s name?”

First confusion swept over Sam’s features, and then they made way for anger that was more intense than it had been before, a fire seeming to burn in him.

“You went in my room?!”

“You weren’t talking,” Dean explained himself, “so I had to do something!”

A nearly painful surge of adrenaline went through him, and then Sam was charging at him. Dean had planned on dodging, but before Sam could get close enough Cas leapt in front of him, and roughly shoved Sam away.

Sam ignored the angel, and asked over his head, “How much did you see?”

Cas cried out, “Enough!”

Dean was unable to answer, too caught up in his emotions to think of how to react. So Sam asked again, his tone even fiercer than before, “How much did you see?!”

He opened his mouth to say something in response, but Castiel stepped to the side. Before Dean could even wonder what he was doing a loud, clear ringing noise filled the air, and golden light washed over them. He looked to Cas, and could see through the glow surrounding him, the fierce, angelic blue of his eyes, and the dark shadows of his damaged wings unfurling behind him. He raised a hand up, shielding his vision.

Castiel spoke once more, his voice loud, and commanding, the voice of a soldier of Heaven, “I said enough!”

In the wake of such awesome power Dean and Sam lost the urge for arguing further, at least for the moment. Castiel had managed to strike them with awe and the tiniest bit of fear, and all previous emotion was shocked from their systems.

The light faded, the shadows of his wings were no longer visible to them, and the ringing ceased. Dean nearly started forward as Cas stumbled, but then he caught himself before he could fall.

Both he and Sam had their gazes locked on him as he went on, “You both did things that were wrong, and I did as well. But right now that doesn’t matter. All three of us need to move past this, and get to work. Hell isn’t going to stay silent forever. Maybe the two of you would prefer fighting to your graves, but I’d much rather prefer if we rescued Crowley.”

Dean looked away in shame, his brother doing the same thing.

“Are you with me?”

It didn’t take long for Dean to come to a decision, and he looked at his friend again as he answered confidently, “One-hundred percent.”

Both he and the angel turned questioning gazes on Sam, who still had his head bowed. His brow was furrowed as he thought.

“Sam?” Cas asked.

“I’m with you,” he finally answered. His voice was weak, nearly shaky, and it lacked conviction, but Dean knew he was telling the truth. He inhaled deeply, his breath uneven as he seemed to be fighting off tears. “Let’s save the King of Hell.”


	34. Pieces on a Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena receives an interesting phone call, Dean talks to Castiel about what happened earlier with Sam, and Vadrach sets a plan in motion.

It’d been a couple of days since Rowena had left the bunker, and she’d been kept busy in that time. Apparently hotel employees didn’t take kindly to having a mysterious guest who didn’t pay for her stay or any of the expenses the hotel offered. That originally wouldn’t have been a problem, but because of the time she’d spent cooped up with Sam, Dean, and Castiel in the bunker, the spells she had cast on them had worn off. So after she fixed that business – which also involved killing a few people who’d been asking too many awkward questions – she decided it’d just be much simpler to find another hotel to stay at. There’d be less of a mess that way (it wasn’t like she was aware of _everyone_ she had to cast enchantments on or get rid of quietly). 

Rowena didn’t like to stay in one place for too long, or else a few people who held grudges against her would surely find her and do away with her as they saw fit, but with her very delicate plan in motion she had to stay near Lebanon, Kansas. She had wanted to stay in the town itself, but a quick visit to the only other hotel changed her mind about that. Hotel was a glorified term for the place. The chipped paint inside the dilapidated looking building and the one disgruntled, tired guest she’d run into suggested that she’d most likely find better service in a motel. She didn’t even think the place would appeal to Sam and Dean, and that was saying something.

So she’d left Lebanon, taking her lavish tastes elsewhere. Okay, so maybe she’d originally intended to stay somewhere closer than Lincoln, Nebraska, but none of the towns or smaller cities had appealed to her. Rowena wasn’t satisfied with just a modicum of comfort. To at least be slightly happy she needed to be pampered.

After a three-hour trip she’d settled herself down in the best five star hotel she’d been able to find, and then waited. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before she got the phone call she was expecting. While at the bunker she’d pulled just the right strings to set things up, to let Sam come to the conclusion that she wanted him to. There was no doubt in her mind that he would call her.

So Rowena entertained herself with some of the younger looking men who worked at the hotel, toying with their emotions so thoroughly she was sure they’d now do anything she asked. Thankfully her little games served as a distraction for the despair that threatened to overwhelm her nearly every second of every day. It didn’t really have much to do with Crowley being locked up, especially since she saw him as weak for even allowing himself to lose the throne and to become his successor’s pet. Something she constantly struggled with was trying to find meaning in life, and the only thing that provided some meaning to her was power. Grasping for it gave her something to do.

But gosh, she was getting sick of waiting for that phone call. And she began to worry. Maybe she hadn’t poked and prodded in the right places, maybe something had happened that had changed what thoughts she’d surely placed in Sam’s mind.

At the current moment Rowena was sitting in one of the plush chairs by the window in her room, and she’d been gazing out it, watching all the little people down on the dark streets below going about their business. But now she turned to her phone, which sat on a polished mahogany end table to her left. 

“Just ring already!” she huffed at it.

Rowena reached out a hand and picked it up. Before she was able to stop herself she had already gone to her contacts, her thumb hovering over Sam’s name. Then a sigh left her and she dropped her phone back down on the end table.

Calling him wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t. He’d grow suspicious.

_You just have to wait a little longer,_ she told herself.

Angry with herself for being so impatient, she grabbed her purse, deciding to go out for dinner. Maybe she could even get one of her toys to go with her (she needed the distraction). Before she left her room she looked back at her phone, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Should she bring it with her?

If she did she suspected that she’d be constantly checking it all night. If Sam hadn’t called her yet, then she could go out for an hour or two without having to worry about him calling her just yet.

So she left her room, and went down to the hotel bar, where she knew one of the men she’d been messing around with, Christian, worked. Rowena wasn’t sure if he was her type, though he was tall, and had dark hair, and a nice smile. But there was something missing, a spark of greater intelligence. His shift wasn’t going to be over just yet, but with a little magic and a little charm, she got him to agree to go out to dinner with her.

 

It was some time past 8:00 when Rowena got back to the hotel, and she went up to her room after abandoning Christian to be yelled at by his boss. She idly thought that it was good he was getting yelled at. He’d wanted to go to her room with her, and Rowena wasn’t one for casual sexual encounters lately, especially since they could make her grow attached. Having feelings for a random human wasn’t really on her agenda.

Before she even opened the door with the keycard and let herself in she could hear a hum, a vibration; someone was calling her.

Doing her best to not rush into the room, Rowena went over to where she’d left her phone to see who it was. As her phone continued to vibrate, the name _Sam Winchester_ showed up on the screen. Feeling a little thrill go through her, Rowena picked up, a smile spreading on her face.

“Hello, Samuel.”

“Where have you been? I tried calling you twice.”

_Oops._

“I have a life, you know,” she informed him, walking to her king-sized bed in the middle of the room and sitting herself down on it.

“Uh huh, and who’d you kill this time?”

A laugh left her, and she responded, “No one. Not today, anyway. I’ve been feeling rather merciful lately.”

“Sure,” he said, his tone making it perfectly clear that he didn’t believe her.

Rowena sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to change his thinking. Besides, she knew he hadn’t called to discuss morals with her. “Sam, are you calling me just to be sarcastic, or do you actually have something intelligent to say?”

There was a pause, and even without being in the same room as him Rowena could feel how uncomfortable he now was, how tense. Usually when someone was holding something back she’d snap at them, but that wouldn’t work in this case. Sam would react badly to that, so she tried to think of anything to say that sounded remotely compassionate.

In the end, Rowena couldn’t think of anything, so she just asked, “Why did you call me? There must be a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah, there is,” he told her hesitantly.

Rowena waited, allowing Sam a chance to go on, but he didn’t.

“And?” she questioned.

There was static through the phone that spoke of him releasing what had been a deep inhale of breath.

“Can I…” Another pause, and she could easily picture the way he must be nervously licking his lips. Her smile deepened. Her plan had worked. “Can I stay with you?”

She feigned surprise, asking, “Why would you of all people consider something like that?”

“Please, Rowena,” he said, voice desperate. “There have been things happening since you left, and I… I need to get away – from Dean, from Cas. It’s… difficult around them.”

This was all just too good to hear, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. Rowena decided to let her gratification drag out just a little longer, so she said nothing, keeping Sam hanging.

“I don’t know who else to turn to.”

Oh, that felt good to hear, but Rowena knew that if she agreed to him staying with her rather quickly that he’d pick up on something being off. So she asked what he expected to hear: “Why me? Are Dean and Cas that bad?”

“They… it’s… Look, it’s not something I want to talk about or anything you need to know.”

That piqued her interest. Had something else happened that had pushed him towards her? Whatever it was, it clearly worked to her advantage. Deciding to not press her luck, Rowena conceded, trying to sound somewhat annoyed. “Fine.”

She gave him the details of where she was all with her lips upturned, feeling very pleased with herself. 

When Sam heard where she was he questioned, “Why the hell are you in Nebraska?”

“No reason really – Lebanon was getting boring, Kansas was getting boring… You don’t mind, do you?”

“I’m starting to think that being farther away from my family might be a good idea anyway. I’ll see you in ten days.”

In her surprise, Rowena came to her feet. “Ten days? Why?” She wanted to ask him why he couldn’t just come now, but that would make her sound like she wanted him to be with her sooner rather than later, which she did, but he didn’t need to know that.

“There are some things I have to take care of,” he responded. “I’ve uh… I’ve been thinking about staying with you for a while – while you were still here actually – and I think it’s best if I lay a few false trails so Dean won’t be able to find me.”

Rowena moved the phone away from her mouth as a relieved sigh left her, and she gracefully sat back down on the bed.

“You really are the smarter one, aren’t you?”

Clearly not caring for the flattery, Sam responded, “Ten days.”

“Ten days, then.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Hm?”

“C-can I bring Ivan?”

“Of course you can bring your slave, dear,” she responded. And then she felt the strong urge to laugh from the way he growled at her. Luckily, he hung up right after that, so she didn’t have to hold it in much longer.

Rowena lay back on her bed, and continued laughing, the sound bubbly and cheerful. It was a relief that her plan had worked out, that Sam was putting his trust in her, _and_ that he was bringing Ivan. And it was fun to mess with him too. Knowing him he was probably going to be angry about the slave comment for at least an hour. Sam had a beautiful temper, and did a splendid job of reining it in, but when it came to her she saw that he had a harder time with it.

A bit of an excited thrill ran through her from thinking of the times he’d directed his anger at her, his eyes dark and burning. But then she ignored the growing warmth in her body and brushed it aside. He wasn’t interested, and Rowena wasn’t going to push. For some reason Sam seemed rather resolute when it came to not having any sort of sexual interaction with her, and she knew it wasn’t just the fact that she was a witch. Why he was like that, she didn’t know. Maybe it was just part of who he was.

Rowena tossed her phone aside, and decided to forget about her feelings for Sam. They weren’t important. Using him like she planned to was. And then when he got here she’d have to learn how the plan for rescuing Crowley was coming along; yet another crucial aspect if she was to achieve her goals. But one piece on her board had moved where he was supposed to, and Rowena was beyond pleased.

 

Sam sat on his bed, his head in his hands. Calling Rowena and asking to stay with her had made shame curl within him, heat fluttering in his stomach. It felt like he was running to her, running to a woman for comfort. But that’s not what this was about. Though, no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn’t stop thinking it. He just needed to get away from Dean, and Castiel. It’d be easier that way. They’d already meddled in his life too much for his liking. That, and he wasn’t comfortable being around them. It didn’t matter that they’d told him how they felt about what they learned, that they didn’t blame him, or judge him. No words could erase the years he’d kept that inside for fear of being looked down upon. Only time could do that, and time away from them would surely help.

There was a knock on his door, and he begrudgingly responded, “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing Dean, freshly showered (at Sam’s request). 

_Thank god for that._

He hadn’t been able to stand the sight of demon blood on Dean. And being within a few feet of him, he’d been able to smell it. Now it was gone, and he missed it. There was a pain in his chest similar to what he’d felt earlier without the amulet. The only difference was that it was sharper, deeper, more a part of him than the magic. 

Sam regretted having demon blood a few nights ago, but at the same time he felt like he needed more of it. He’d have to get it somehow, but for the time being he had to control himself. 

“I’m surprised you even knocked,” Sam muttered to him, lifting up his head to gaze at his brother, sparks of still-dying anger lying in his eyes. “Don’t you just let yourself in whenever you feel like it to go through my stuff?”

“Sam,” Dean sighed, “today’s the only day I’ve actually gone through your stuff, okay? You didn’t give me a choice. You know what, whatever, I get it, you’re upset. Hell, I’d be too. So here’s what we’re gonna do for now. We’re gonna forget what happened earlier, just like Cas told us to, and we’re gonna save Crowley.”

“Why do we even have to save him?” Sam asked, not truly meaning for the words to leave his mouth.

“Dude, this is Crowley.”

And Crowley was one particular person who tended to make him uncomfortable, what with all the unwanted sexual comments directed his way. And sometimes Sam wasn’t even sure if he’d act on them or not, or if he was just doing it to mess with him. Whatever Crowley meant by it, Sam didn’t like it.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “And?”

His brother looked away, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “He’s saved us a few times, okay? I think we owe him.”

“Yeah, fine. But can we get started on that tomorrow? I’m beat.”

Dean sighed, but then he nodded. “Okay, I’ll let Cas know.”

 

It was a relief when he’d gone to talk to his brother that he hadn’t had that predatory look in his eyes anymore. Dean was trying to figure out why his brother had looked at him in such a way, but he couldn’t figure it out. And there was no way he was _interested_ in him. They were brothers, Sam was basically sex repulsed (Dean didn’t blame him), and Sam wasn’t into dudes. His stomach turned.

_Great, I’m grossing myself out._

It was stupid to even consider, so that meant it’d been something else. He was too tired to figure it out. Maybe talking to Cas would help him.

He found his friend in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess Sam had made earlier (most likely in a fit of rage or some other strong emotion).

“Cas, you don’t have to do that,” Dean told him, going over and taking a pan from his hands that he’d just picked up off the floor.

“I just feel like I’ve made such a mess of things,” he answered. “The least I can do is clean.”

Dean shook his head. “No, the least you can do is sit your ass down and give yourself a damn break. You did what you thought was best. You always try to do the right thing, so don’t go blaming yourself for that.”

Castiel sighed and sat down at the table as Dean went to the sink and turned the water on so he could start washing everything that’d been on the floor. Besides, he needed the pan. He was still hungry, and the thought of hamburgers was a pleasing one.

As he put soap on a sponge and started scrubbing away he informed him, “Sam suggested we start planning tomorrow, which frankly, I think is a great idea. I’m starving and exhausted.”

“Yeah,” the angel said despondently.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dean asked, glancing at him. “Did something else happen when you were with Sam? Did he hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“That son of a bitch,” he breathed out, squeezing the sponge tightly so that soap burst out and covered his hand.

“Not physically,” Cas went on. “He, he said something. I don’t think he meant it.”

“What did he say?” he asked, trying to keep his voice controlled. Dean had felt enough emotions for today, so he was doing best to hold back whatever violent feeling was attempting to claw its way to the surface.

“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t mean it.”

“Clearly it does matter if it’s bothering you.”

“He…” Cas took in a deep breath, and then went on, “He just said I should stop trying to help all the time because I always screw up. And maybe he’s right. I’m useless.”

Dean dropped the pan in the sink with a loud _clang_ , not caring that he’d now have to wash the bottom of it again. He turned to Cas, gesturing with his sponge, soap dripping to the floor.

“You are not useless,” he told him. “You hear me? You’re not.”

Castiel raised his head, and looked up at him, despair in his bright blue eyes. “Then why do I feel like I am?”

“Because emotions are shitty and don’t always make sense,” Dean told him confidently. “They’re illogical sometimes, okay? You may feel useless, but you’re wrong about that. You’re not. You’ve helped us so many times, and you’re helping us now, so forget what Sam said. He was being a dick.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” his friend agreed, nodding his head a little.

Convinced that Cas was now feeling at least somewhat better Dean went back to washing the pan.

While drying it with a towel he turned to Castiel, asking, “Do you know what happened earlier?”

“Dean, a _lot_ happened earlier.”

“I mean with that weird way Sam was looking at me. You saw that right?”

“I did.”

“What the hell do you think that was?”

He shrugged. “You did have demon blood on you.”

“Yeah, but he’s been around demon blood and he’s been fine. Sam has his addiction under wraps.”

“Unless he doesn’t.”

Dean frowned. “You do realize what you’re saying, right?” He placed the pan down on the counter, next to the uncooked hamburgers that were still sitting out, and went over to his friend.

“I do.”

He sat down across from Cas and started thinking. The only time he could’ve had demon blood was when he’d massacred the demons that’d been basically laying siege to them. Could he have? Dean didn’t want to think that. It wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t. Not again. 

“No,” he intoned, voice adamant. “He couldn’t have, he wouldn’t.”

“He has been-”

Dean pointed a stern finger at him as he cut him off, “Just because he’s been messing with that godforsaken amulet doesn’t mean he started drinking demon blood again. I won’t believe it. Sam wouldn’t do that to himself. Hell, the one with the self destructive personality around here is me.”

“Then maybe the amulet is just making it more difficult for him to control his urges.”

He nodded, liking that idea a lot more than his brother drinking demon blood again. “Yeah, it’s probably that.”

As Dean continued cleaning and set about getting dinner ready he told himself, _It’s probably that,_ and he believed it because he had to. Things were already crazy enough without getting demon blood involved.

And then he pushed all those thoughts aside, deciding to just focus on what was in front of him. It was late, nothing could be done now about anything that was going on, so he was just going to have to leave it till tomorrow.

 

Vadrach didn’t like that his torture session with Crowley had gotten him nowhere, and he regretted breaking down in front of him. At least in relieving some of his fury he’d managed to hurt Crowley more. Maybe that would at least get the former king thinking.

Vadrach needed information, and he needed it now. He realized that Crowley wasn’t his only source. He now ruled all of Hell. There was so much he could do! Excitement burst through him, starting from his chest, at the realization. He was _the King of Hell_. If torturing Crowley didn’t pan out (part of him hoped it wouldn’t, just so he could keep having sessions with him) it’d be best to have another plan in place, and with all his new resources, he could easily have one.

So he ordered one of his guards to go to Hell and retrieve a demon who he’d been close to a couple times. Surely she’d be able to help him. As a human she’d been an assassin; getting information was definitely something she could do.

Once the guard left to complete his task Vadrach ran a hand through his limp hair, sat back in his throne, and grinned.


	35. Planning a Rescue: Easier Said Than Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel start planning how to rescue Crowley. Vadrach meets with someone who could help him acquire more information about Sam and Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been MIA 'cause I sprained one of my fingers (don't ask how because I don't know). I hope you enjoy this chapter, and chapter 36 is already in the works. I'm not sure when it'll be complete though since it's going to be a longer chapter.

Rescuing Crowley was going to be a lot easier said than done. For one, they didn’t know how many demons Vadrach kept at the fortress, and two, they didn’t know where Crowley was being held. So they worked on the assumption that they were going to be up against a lot of enemies. And as far as finding Crowley went, he was probably being kept in a dungeon of some sort, so all they’d have to do would be to go underground.

The odds they were up against didn’t worry them. Sam and Dean had taken down large packs of werewolves and vampires before, and Sam had been able to take down twenty demons, so they felt pretty confident about their odds. What they were worried about were the weapons at their disposal. All they had that could actually kill a demon was Castiel’s angel blade, and demon-killing knife, and the amulet. It wasn’t enough to make Dean feel confident. Being in close quarters with a lot of enemies could get deadly, and fast.

At first they thought they’d just have to make do with that, but then Sam remembered the effect the sword he’d wielded the other night had had on the demons it’d touched. He’d wanted to do research on all the swords the Men of Letters had just for the fun of it, but now he realized that the information could prove important to their plan.

Sam explained his idea, grabbed a few of the swords and some books, and retreated to his room. Their discussion had nearly devolved into arguments countless times, so Sam thought it best to distance himself while he did some research. It was hard to focus when tensions were high anyway.

In less than half an hour he’d found out what he wanted to, and excited, Sam returned to the library. When he got there Dean and Castiel were talking quietly, their heads bowed close together over a large piece of white paper, Dean with a pencil in his hand. 

“What are you working on?” Sam asked as he put the books down (he’d return the swords to their places later).

“I’m trying to put together a map of the fortress based on what Cas saw while he was there.”

“You sure you saw enough?” Sam asked the angel.

“No, but it’s all we have.”

Dean threw his pencil down and leaned back in his seat. He wiped his hands over his face as a tired breath left him. “Find anything out?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. As he began to talk about what he’d discovered things started to feel a little more normal, “So the swords were made by the Men of Letters. With swords the cores are usually iron and a steel blade is fitted over it, but the swords we have are pure iron. The fires used to heat the metal so it could be molded were fueled with holy oil. They had to use magic to make sure the fire was hot enough, but they still got it to work. And the swords were tempered during different stages in a mix of holy oil, holy water, and salt.”

Dean frowned in the way he did when he was trying to understand something. “But doesn’t salt, like, I don’t know, corrode metal or something?”

“It’s usually part of the corrosion process,” Sam explained. “Same with water when it comes to iron. The most I can make of it is that the salt and holy water were imbued with magic that would actually strengthen the blades rather than having a negative effect on them.” Then he started going off on a tangent as he grew curious about how that worked, “Maybe they made it so that the sale and holy water couldn’t interact with the blade physically and they retained their ions rather than passing it onto the iron. The cooling process could still happen, and the magic could still work because it’s not based upon electrolysis or the ions being passed onto another type of matter. Huh…”

Sam was still trying to think it over when Dean drew him from his thoughts, “Okay, I don’t know what most of that means, but what I understand is that we have swords that can gank ghosts, demons, _and_ angels.”

“Yep, pretty much.”

Dean shot him an excited grin. “Cool.”

“Remind me not to go near any of them,” Castiel said.

“Sure thing. Hey, Cas, don’t go near any of those swords.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, and Sam couldn’t help laughing. When he looked to Dean he had a calm smile on his face. Sam wished the moment could last forever. It was like things were back to normal, like all the crap they’d gone through recently hadn’t happened.

Those thoughts made Sam’s own smile fade, and a weary sigh left him. It was too easy to remember what he’d done earlier. That he’d hurt Castiel, that he’d hurt Dean. Sam regretted that, and the pain dug into his heart like a knife. It was on the shelf next to all the other things that were hurting; Ivan, the amulet, the demon blood, Rowena. There were things that he regretted and things that he wanted control over and things that he wanted to change and things that he wanted to forget. Everything hurt too much, and Sam just wished that he could somehow stop everything that was going on so he could sit with Cas and Dean, and laugh. It was something they all needed.

“I’ll definitely feel better about going in there now,” Dean said. “Swords are still close combat, but at least they’re not knives. I mean, nothing against knives, but I’d feel better having a bigger weapon when going up against a bunch of black-eyed bastards.”

Sam agreed, and then things grew quiet. The tension that had faded to the background during their moment of familiarity was growing, taking its place at the foreground once more.

“So when do we strike?” Sam asked.

“Cas and I were thinking the day after tomorrow. We have to make more salt rounds, and do all that totally fun maintenance stuff with our weapons, and he wanted to wait some more to make sure his angel mojo is fine.”

“Dean you know it’s not called that,” Cas informed him, a smile ghosting his lips.

“Yeah, but just saying _grace_ isn’t as exciting.”

“Okay, two days then,” Sam agreed. “I just have to ask, when we go in, are we planning on killing Vadrach?”

Cas answered, “I think it’d be best to eliminate him as quickly as possible, but we’d be spread too thin if we attempted that. We’re most likely going to need to plan another mission for that after we get Crowley out safely.”

“Then won’t he come after us?” he asked. “He’s the only person Vadrach can get information about us from.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not so sure he’d want to come after us. If we successfully rescue Crowley then he’s gonna know that we mean business. He’s a new king, I don’t think he’d want to mess with us, especially since he’s already lost twenty demons at our hands.”

“At my hands,” Sam corrected.

His brother looked away, and Sam swore he saw a shiver run through him. Had that been from fear? Horror? There was a tightening in his throat, making it hard to breathe. But then Dean looked back to him, and he seemed just fine.

“Sorry. At your hands. It just…”

When Dean didn’t go on, Sam prompted, “It just – what?”

“Scares me. All this power you have, it’s not right.”

Sam huffed out a quiet laugh. “You don’t think I know that?” He looked from his brother to his friend. “Cas?”

“We weren’t particularly sure,” the angel answered quietly, meeting his eyes with a sturdy gaze to show that he wasn’t afraid.

It was like someone had punched him right in the gut, the sudden pain causing his eyes to tear up. It flowed up to his chest as anger started taking over, a red shield from the hurt he was feeling.

Knowing that he couldn’t do anything stupid, knowing that he didn’t want to, Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. It wasn’t till he exhaled that he noticed an ache in his right hand form having it clenched in a tight fist. Another breath, and then he was taking care of that too, relaxing his muscles.

“We should work more on this tomorrow,” Castiel said.

Sam got up, and agreed, “Yeah, tomorrow,” and then rushed off to his room before he could hurt anyone he cared about. He’d done enough of that lately.

 

Crowley hadn’t expected for Vadrach to re-break his fingers in order to set them properly, but he knew it wasn’t a courtesy. With another crack, another snap of his bone, more pain flashed through him, and a cry left his mouth before he could do anything to stop it. The piece of wood had been taken from his hand, but it’d caused so much damage that his hand hadn’t quite put itself back together yet.

“You’re probably wondering how I know how to do this,” Vadrach said as he carefully moved his bone around to get it in the right position.

Crowley’s breathing was harsh, but he managed to get enough breath to grunt, “Not really. I’m just… feeling appreciative.”

“Really?” he asked with a raise of one eyebrow. The question was paired with another sharp snap.

Crowley would’ve all but jumped out of his chair, but he was still chained to it, and his hands were still cuffed to the table. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run from the agonies he was quickly growing accustomed to.

“I’m making you hurt even more. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Yes, because you’re annoying!” Crowley spat out. And then a rather humiliating high-pitched noise left him that might have been a whimper as another one of his bones was put back in place, Vadrach’s grip much too firm.

The False King let out a dark laugh. “Oh, Crowley, you’re so much fun. Maybe after you tell me all I want to know about Sam and Dean Winchester I’ll keep you around.”

“No thanks. I’d rather have a knife shoved up my arse.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Are you flirting, Vadrach? It’s no use. I already told you I’m not interested.”

Vadrach ignored his comment and grabbed the pinky finger on his right hand. Crowley watched, his stomach rolling with revulsion, as it was broken as easily as a twig. More pain flashed through him, and he bowed his head. His witty comments had been his attempts to distract himself, but since Vadrach hadn’t said anything back this time the pain of his broken fingers was taking over. The throbbing and aching that was about as much fun as slamming a car door over all your fingers at once took over his attention, unshed tears clouding his vision.

As expected, Vadrach began talking, but it was just nonsense to Crowley. The False King really liked hearing his own voice, and the former king was a bit preoccupied with just how badly his hands hurt. If only it would stop. It just had to stop. But no. After all he’d been going through, his vessel fused with his demonic essence didn’t seem to want to make him heal as quickly. He was weakening. Just another thing to be ashamed of.

Vadrach’s words partially made it to him, something about him having been a healer back in the early thousands in Russia, and then he’d desired to use magic, selling his soul to a demon in order to do so. His name didn’t seem Russian at all, but Crowley ignored that little detail. It was probably just something he’d picked out for himself as a new demonic identity or something.

After finishing with his fingers Vadrach didn’t ask him about the Winchesters again. He just unshackled Crowley and dragged him back over to his previous spot against the wall, restrained him once more, and left.

Odd. He’d been so insistent earlier. Something didn’t feel right, but with agony owning his world, he couldn’t even hope to figure out what was wrong.

 

The demon Vadrach had sent to retrieve Asha had returned just as he’d been finishing up with Crowley, and he wasn’t alone. Asha had been born in Kenya about two-hundred years ago, and though she now spoke English, she very stubbornly spoke with her thick Swahili accent, rounding out each word as it left her mouth. The accent was one that Vadrach found very soothing to listen to, and he was excited to see her once again. It’d been too long since they’d last spoken.

When he entered the throne room, the flames in the candles along the sides of the room shuddered from the rush of air that brushed past them. Asha was standing before the throne, her hands clasped in front of her patiently.

Vadrach didn’t address her until he sat. She had the same vessel he’d seen her in last time, which for some demons was saying a lot. Asha was proud of her heritage, so she did her best to always choose vessels form Africa. She looked upon him with her proud, broad features, her curly hair falling about her shoulders. The white of her shirt clashed beautifully with her dark skin, and her black jeans showed him her perfectly shaped legs and accented the curve of her hips.

He mentally shook himself. She was there to discuss business. Anything that had once been between them was gone. They were still on friendly terms though.

“It’s good to see you again, Asha.”

She smiled, the white of her teeth showing.

“I would’ve never broken up with you if I’d known you’d one day become the King of Hell.”

Vadrach huffed. “The way I remember it, I broke up with you.”

She shrugged, a graceful motion of her shoulders. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re not together anymore, and that’s that.” She paused before asking, “Why did you send for me?”

“I have a job for you.”

“Oh?” she questioned with a lift of her dark eyebrows.

“I need you to go to Lebanon, Kansas and collect information about two men for me. Can you do that?”

“Easy. Just give me the names, and I can get started.”

“Sam and Dean Winchester,” Vadrach supplied. “But, do be careful. I sent twenty demons after them and none of them came back. They’re dangerous.”

“I’ve dealt with dangerous before,” Asha replied as she turned to walk away. “This’ll be nothing.”

Vadrach knew repeating his warning wouldn’t be of any use. But she was good at what she did, so surely she’d be fine. He excused the informal way she’d addressed him mostly because he found it amusing. As the door closed behind her he drummed his fingers against the armrest of the throne.

Now all he could do was wait. He had plans in motion, and this was merely the beginning. It wasn’t like demons could claim the world for themselves while the Winchesters were still alive. They’d stopped more than one world-ending crisis, so right now, eliminating them was the only thing he could do. And hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer before that happened.

 

Next Wednesday, the day when Sam would meet up with Rowena, seemed so very far away. A whole day hadn’t even passed since his phone conversation with her and he found himself wanting to run away. Sam just wanted to get away from everything. But there was nowhere for him to go, not yet. The corner he was trapped in way made of walls of steel; cold, unforgiving, impenetrable. He was trapped.

But now he didn’t just want to leave for himself, he wanted to leave to protect Castiel and Dean. If he wasn’t around he couldn’t hurt them anymore, and there wouldn’t be any arguments that started or ended with punches being thrown. His brother and his friend would just be better off without him.

Right now, in the midst of his still-dying anger, which glowed like the cooling embers of a fire, he just wanted to punch something. Or someone. The idea of going back into the library and punching Dean came to mind, but Sam stepped away from his door, taking a seat at his desk. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

Then an idea struck him. He should call Jody. Sure, he wasn’t going to explain what exactly was going on, but hearing someone else’s voice would be nice.

So he got out his phone, went to his contacts, and tapped on _Jody Mills_. The phone rang three times before there was an answer.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hi Jody.”

“That’s funny, I was just about to call you,” she told him.

“Really? Why?” Worry struck at his stomach. “Are you okay? Are Claire and Alex okay?”

“Don’t worry,” she told him, her voice calm, exuding absolute honesty. Sam relaxed at that, and she went on, “I’m actually worried about you. I’ve been seeing some weird stuff on the news, dead bodies found in Lebanon, and from what I got there were also some people turned into statues. Everything okay down there?”

“Wait, are the police still investigating that?”

“Of course. A bunch of people are dead, and with the way things are, they couldn’t just chalk it up to a freak accident. I even heard that they have some evidence that might help them get the suspect.”

Sam’s heart started hammering away. “What? What kind of evidence?”

“Beats me. So what’s going on down there? Do you need help?”

Sam cleared his throat as he tried to bury the slight panic building up in him. He’d been arrested before, but since he was supposedly dead, there’d be a lot of questions. And there was no way he could go to prison, not with the situation in Hell as precarious as it was.

He contemplated Jody’s offer. A friendly face would be nice, but there wasn’t really anything she could do. Was there? Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to get her involved. This business was very messy. And he didn’t want Jody to see him like this. Despite doing what he had to, Sam was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d let himself be used again.

“No, we’re all good. Managed to catch the thing that did it.”

“And it’s not cleared up with the police?”

“Uh… they’d probably think I was involved,” Sam admitted sheepishly.

“You?” Jody asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Long story, but trust me, everything’s fine.”

There was silence as Jody seemed to be thinking something over. “Hmm… Then why’d you call?”

And she’d seen right through him. Jody was good at that when it came to him. “No reason.”

“Sam, I will use my mom voice,” she said sternly.

A small smile al it Sam’s face, a comforting, sturdy warmth taking root in his chest from Jody’s words.

“Okay, okay. You’re right,” he admitted. “Everything’s not fine. Sam had to pause to collect himself, and he was thankful Jody didn’t press him to continue. “It’s complicated though. I’m not sure you’d understand.”

“Come on, Sam, it’s me you’re talking to. You can tell me what’s up. You know I won’t judge you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Could he do it? Could he tell Jody about the amulet? How could he? Why would he even do such a thing? Sam had called Jody to try and get away from everything for a little bit, so the last thing he wanted to talk about was the situation he was stuck in. And Jody would be insistent.

Not particularly liking the decision he came to, Sam went through with it anyway.

“Bye, Jody.”

As he took the phone away from his ear, he heard her all but shout, “Sam!”

And then he hung up. With a defeated sigh he tossed his phone down on his desk and hung his head. At this rate, Sam wasn’t even sure how he was going to make it to next Wednesday.


	36. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel go to the fortress to save Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone knows Latin, I'm sorry.

The quiet tension before a battle was something Sam was accustomed to. The air was thick with it the next day as he and Dean cleaned their guns, checked to make sure everything was working properly, and made salt rounds. There was a workspace in the bunker that they used for the work, a room in one of the lower levels. Neither of them spoke, but Sam was fine with that. Besides the apprehension that built itself on top of him before burrowing inwards, there was still the deep, unsettling tension of unresolved anger. Despite the way it made his stomach decide to see how many flips it could do, Sam did his best to keep a tight lid on it. Dean wasn’t usually the best at it, and earlier he’d been making just about as many passive aggressive comments as Sam expected. So he was glad for the work, glad that his brother had something to keep him occupied for the time being. Glad that he himself had something to do.

But there was more than just the thick tension that tried to weigh him down. Sam was having a hard time focusing, pangs in his chest that pulled inward, as if he longed for something. He knew what it was that his body craved. Sam was surprised that the desire was still just as strong, still just as painful. Just a few drops of demon blood and he needed more.

His vision blurred as he grabbed for a steel primer from the bag in front of him, but he forged ahead, thinking it’d clear soon. But when he tried to fit the primer into the bottom of the cartridge he dropped both pieces and they fell onto the table he worked at. He scrabbled around for them, but two tiny sounds of impact alerted him that they’d fallen on the floor.

Sam just sat there, blinking, waiting for his vision to return to normal. It did, but he didn’t feel right, like the inside of his head was tingling.

Dean glanced over at him. “You okay over there?”

He frowned. “Sure. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He glanced around for the primer and the cartridge, and then stooped over to pick them up when he’d found them. But doing so made a wave of dizziness crash over him, the tingling in his head turning to pressure. Sam slumped out of his chair and landed on the hard floor on his knees. Dean was by his side in a second, one hand at his chest to support him, the other at his back.

“Whoa, Sam! What’s going on?”

Sam wasn’t sure he had the answer. He suspected it was the demon blood in him, which was something he couldn’t exactly make sense of. And more importantly, it was something he couldn’t tell Dean.

He took a deep breath, focusing on the gnawing in his chest, a deep pit of desire. Then he began to withdraw from the feeling, and one by one let everything else come back to him. It was a trick Sam had learned in the Cage so he wouldn’t break. Sometimes it worked, other times not so much. But it did for now, and the pain receded into more of a dull, annoying throb.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt much better.

“I’m fine,” Sam answered, starting to rise.

Dean attempted to help him, but Sam shrugged his hands away.

“I said I’m fine,” he growled out.

His brother drew back, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. “Okay, okay. Jeez, just trying to help.”

Sam wanted to say something about not needing his help, but he knew that would only make thing worse. He picked up the primer and the cartridge, and went back to work. His mind wandered to the upcoming battle, and a familiar stone of fear settled in his stomach.

 

Upon finishing with making salt rounds, when Sam was about to leave to grab his guns in order to clean them, Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll clean the guns,” he told him. “The fortress is a pretty long drive from here, and we need to be at our best when we attack, so I was wondering if you could do some digging on teleportation spells.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you’d trust your car more than magic. And if I recall, you currently have an issue with me doing magic.”

Dean sighed. “I have an issue with you using the amulet, and yes, I would trust Baby more, but we just really don’t have the time for a long drive. Please, just see if you can dig something up.”

“Fine.”

So Sam found himself in the library, trying to dig up anything he could on teleportation spells. There was some boring stuff he had to sift through first about understanding the concept of teleportation. That could prove important given that Sam didn’t want to get them there only to find out one of them had left a limb back at the bunker. Once he dug through that then he had to look through different types of spells for teleportation. He found one that was quick, which he’d need once they got Crowley.

Usually, the spells he came across needed a lot of ingredients, but this one was clearly for things such as quick getaways where ingredients weren’t always on hand, and when there wouldn’t be time to prepare them properly. All it required was the blood of those being teleported and for an incantation to be said.

It seemed deceptively simple. Sam continued reading about the spell, wanting to be sure he wouldn’t get it wrong, and as he did he idly fingered the amulet. He checked to make sure it worked with more than just humans (it did), and then figured there was nothing else to be done with it. He’d do the spell, and he’d have to get it right.

He was nervous, but he knew it wasn’t about the magic. It was the fact that he was going to have to face demons while he felt like he needed demon blood. What if it distracted him during the fight? And worse, what if he couldn’t control himself and Dean or Cas found out what he’d done?

Sam couldn’t help remembering the incident a few years ago where Dean and Castiel had caught him drinking demon blood. Sam had been unable to control himself at the time since he’d gone too long without it. He still remembered the look of abject horror on Dean’s face, and then how he’d tricked him into being locked up in Bobby’s safe room. He pictured himself as he was now, blood staining his lips and running down his chin, that same expression on Dean’s face from those few years ago, and then being locked up in the dungeon.

A shiver ran through him, and he turned his attention back to the battle tomorrow. So many things had a hand in the outcome, and something would go wrong. That was just how plans worked. They always went wrong.

 

The next day, Sam, Dean, and Cas congregated in the war room just after sunrise. Usually being up so early gave Dean reason to complain, but given how serious the situation was he kept his mouth shut. The time they attacked wouldn’t be important like it would if their adversaries were human. Demons didn’t need sleep, so they’d be up and about at any hour.

Sam was the one to make breakfast that day, wanting to distance himself a bit from Cas and his brother. As they ate they went over last minute details.

“Okay,” Dean began, his mouth a little full, “we don’t know what kind of defenses Vadrach will have in place, but it’s best to assume that there’ll be demons patrolling around the clock.”

“The good thing is he’s probably not expecting us,” Castiel said. “We’ll have surprise on our side.”

“That’ll only last so long,” Sam added.

“Exactly,” his brother agreed. He took a sip from his mug of coffee, and then continued, “That’s why we have to get in and out fast, and if possible, keep the noise level to a minimum. We don’t wanna draw the attention of every demon in the place.”

“So how do we get in?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure of any entrance other than the one at the front,” Cas informed him. “But that’d be far from ideal. There’s a staircase we’d have to go up first. Any demon happening to look out a window on that side of the building would spot us, and there’s no cover.”

“So we need someone to scout out the place before we go in,” Sam reasoned. “I’ll do it.”

Dean shook his head. “No. I’m better at silent movement than you. I’ll have a higher chance of not getting spotted.”

That made sense, so Sam nodded in agreement.

“Sam and I will wait a few a few hundred feet back in the woods while you look for a back or side entrance. Meet up with us once you find it, and then we can go in.”

“Got it. I think the plan’s as solid as it’s gonna get. Sam, you got anything to add?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “No, it seems pretty fine to me. I just think it’d be a good idea if we recorded the exorcism on our phones in case we end up in a tight spot.”

“Good idea.”

Once they finished breakfast they pre-recorded the exorcism like Sam had suggested, and then packed their various weapons. Dean examined the sword that Sam suggested he should take with him; a saber with a gold-colored guard and a leather grip.

“Why do you get the longsword?” he asked, looking over as Sam inspected his sword for any weaknesses before sheathing it.

“What’s wrong with the saber?” Sam asked.

“Nothing, I guess. Just think the longsword looks cooler.”

Sam was about to pack his away, but then he held it out to Dean. “If you want, we can switch.”

Dean shook his head. “No, no, I’m good.”

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately, and then stowed the sword in a large duffle bag, its color faded. It was difficult to be angry with Dean right now, especially when he’d be worrying about him once they went into battle.

“You got that spell figured out, right?” Dean asked.

“Yep.”

Castiel entered the library, his steps purposeful and confident. Sam could tell his friend appreciated being on the offensive for once.

Dean hefted his bag over his shoulder, and Sam passed him his own, asking, “Could you hold this while I do the spell?”

His brother nodded and took hold of the heavy bag like it was nothing.

“Cas, I need to borrow your angel blade,” Sam told him.

“I’m assuming this is for the spell Dean told me about.”

He nodded, holding his hand out. To Sam’s pleasant surprise, there was no hesitation from Castiel as he gave it to him.

Sam rolled up his sleeve, and then sliced into his forearm. His blood welled up instantly, even before the pain registered. The cut was shallow, so it was mostly an annoying burn. He did the same to Dean and Cas, their blood mixing together on the silver metal of the angel blade.

“Cas, I’m gonna need you to think of the fortress, and if you can, outside it. We don’t want to end up somewhere where we’ll have to suddenly defend ourselves.”

“Of course.”

“Ready?”

Cas nodded as Dean said, “Let’s do this.”

Sam focused on their blood that was trailing down the smooth blade to the hilt as he held it up.

As he was about to speak the incantation a thought came to him, and he advised, “Dean, clear your mind.”

“What? Why?”

“I want to make sure we all end up in the same place, or you know, we show up with all of our organs.”

Sam glanced at Dean, whose face paled, but then he soon adopted a blank, faraway expression. He took a deep breath, and focused his attention on the blood again.

Confident that Castiel was focused on where they needed to go, Sam closed his eyes and spoke the incantation, imbuing it with his will, “ _Itinere quantum breve tempus. Nos locum quaerere._ ”

There was a rushing sound in his ears, followed by silence and a sense of weightlessness. And then solid ground was beneath his feet. Startled from the sudden change in setting, Sam nearly fell. The air was crisp and a few colored leaves fluttered down from the trees around them, stirred by the gentle wind.

“Did it work? Are we here?” Dean asked.

All three of them looked around, and off through the trees they saw a large, dark building, marring the forest’s natural beauty with its lonesome and dilapidated appearance. But the place was no doubt crawling with demons.

“We’re here,” Cas said.

Sam handed him back his angel blade, and then they carefully traveled farther away, to a safer position. Dean set the bags down, and Sam grabbed his and started rifling through it for the first aid kit he’d brought. He took out a roll of bandages and surgical tape and tossed them to Dean. After bandaging his arm he gave them back to Sam and he did the same.

“Is that gonna heal soon?” Sam asked, gesturing to the still-bleeding cut on Cas’ arm.

In response, he simply held his hand out for the bandages. Sam passed them over quickly, having figured he wouldn’t be able to heal himself just yet. He was probably saving his power for the battle.

“I’ll start heading out,” Dean informed them, drawing the demon-killing knife from his bag. “Give me an hour. If I’m not back by then assume I’ve been killed or captured.”

And with that he left, making his way through the woods, his steps quiet despite his size.

Sam and Castiel settled down beneath the roots of a tree that had been lifted up out of the earth, creating a natural alcove. And there they waited.

For the first forty-five minutes, Sam was fine, but then he started to worry. What if Dean didn’t come back in time?

“Cas,” Sam murmured, “do you think Dean’s all right?”

“I can make out Dean’s prayers, both formal and informal, and right now, nothing.”

“Are you sure? What do we do if he doesn’t come back? I mean, we’d have to go in and get him, right?”

“Sam, we won’t have to do that,” Castiel assured him, turning his blue-eyed gaze to him. “He’s fine. I know it.”

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. Despite Castiel’s words it was hard not to worry.

A few more minutes passed in silence, and then Dean jumped down beside Sam, who instantly unsheathed his sword and whirled towards him in surprise.

“Calm down. It’s only me,” Dean said quietly as he placed the demon-killing knife in the sheathe strapped to his left thigh.

Sam re-sheathed the sword and settled down again, but his heart was still taking its time catching up with the fact that he was safe.

“Did you find a way in?” Cas asked.

Dean shook his head, and sat down on a boulder jutting out of the ground across from them. “There’s only one entrance. No wonder Crowley likes the place so much, it’s easily defendable.

“Shit,” Sam breathed.

“So now what?” Castiel asked.

Dean put his head in his hands as he thought, seconds ticking by. 

“Okay,” he finally said, looking at both of them, “we’re still gonna go in. Getting Crowley is important and we can’t let this all fall apart because of not being able to find one stupid door. We’ll take the stairs, keeping low to the ground, and-”

“Shouldn’t we wait till nightfall?” Sam suggested.

“If we do that we’re risking a whole day to pass, a whole day where Crowley could’ve started blabbing by now. It’s better if we get this done as quickly as we can.”

Still unsure about this Sam looked to Cas to see if he had any problems with the plan. The angel was looking down with a frown on his face.

“Look,” Dean started, taking in both their expressions, “I don’t like this either, but it’s what we gotta do, all right?” When neither of them said anything he went, “Once we get past the stairs, there’re probably gonna be a lot of demons inside. I’ll look for a way down while you two keep the suckers off of me. I’ll pitch in where I can. We move quickly, not stopping for anything. We get Crowley, and we get out.”

Sam and Cas nodded their understanding. Dean rose went over to his bag, pulling out the saber. He strapped it to his belt, and then pulled out his shotgun, slinging it over his shoulder. Sam did the same with his weapons, and then they were ready to go. 

They moved through the woods as silently as they possibly could, keeping low to the ground, and using the trees for cover. Sam and Castiel accidently snapped a few twigs here and there, to which Dean would shoot them an annoyed look, but they had yet to be discovered.

It wasn’t till they reached the outskirts of the twenty-foot stretch of open space in front of the fortress that they came to a stop.

“What now?” Sam breathed to Dean, who stood, hidden behind a tree just a foot away from the one he was using for cover. Cas was on Dean’s other side, and he too was looking at him.

Dean peered around the tree, scanning the building, and then ducked back behind it again. 

“The windows are dirty, so I can’t really see through them, but if anyone had spotted us the signal would’ve gone up by now. We’re gonna get to the stairs as quickly as we can, and get in.”

“Okay,” Sam breathed.

Cas whispered, “Got it.”

Dean nodded his head, steeling himself, and Sam found himself taking a deep breath.

“Ready?” his brother asked.

He and the angel nodded, and then the three of them broke from their cover. Sam sprinted for the stairs, his sole focus on the ground that he had to cross. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end from being out in the open near such a dangerous place. He made it to the top of the stairs unnoticed, and Cas and Dean followed behind him. The three of them crouched down. Sam’s heart still hadn’t resumed its normal pace when Dean ordered him to draw his sword, and for Castiel to have his angel blade out.

Castiel and Sam took their positions at each of the double doors, and then opened them, rushing in quickly, expecting a fight. No one was in the entrance hall, and the two spacious rooms on either side of it were empty as well.

Dean followed them, and then looked around in confusion as they came back out.

“Empty,” Sam told.

“Empty,” Cas confirmed.

“Uh… what?” he asked.

Sam shrugged, and suggested, “Maybe they’re not here anymore.”

“No, they are,” Castiel said. “I can sense it.”

“Okay, then where are they?” Dean asked, voice rising with his fear.

“I don’t know,” the angel answered. “Something’s wrong.”

Dean took a deep breath to school himself and then said, “The plan still hasn’t changed. We keep moving. Did either of you see any doors in those two rooms?”

Sam and Cas shook their heads, so Dean began leading them down the entrance hall.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, “do you think they know where here?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then shouldn’t we pull back? They might have something nasty in store for us.”

“We keep going,” he said. “We have an angel and your stupid amulet on our side. There ain’t nothing they can throw at us that’ll keep us down.”

Sam thought it was stupid, but Dean was the one leading this mission, so he shut up and followed his brother.

Past the door in the entrance hall was a spacious room with a staircase that went upwards. Old and rotting pieces of furniture took up the sides of the room where they’d been carelessly pushed against the wall. Those were the unimportant details that Sam took in. The most important detail was that the room was filled with demons, all facing them.

Usually Crowley liked when his demons wore suits or dressed business casual, but Vadrach clearly didn’t give a damn. There were at least forty demons in the spacious room, some crowding up on the stairs, and they were all dressed differently. Some in the fashion that Crowley preferred, others in jeans and t-shirts and sweatshirts, and others were barely wearing anything, showing so much skin that Sam grew uncomfortable.

For a few seconds Sam, Dean, and Castiel just stared at them, their hearts beating wildly.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed.

And then the demons lunged at them.


	37. Often Go Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel fight for their lives, and hope that if they survive they'll be able to save Crowley.

Sam had been in many fights throughout his life, and in the more recent years, battles. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this. The sheer number of enemies alone was so great, at least, compared to only three people. As the demons came towards them, he felt small, insignificant, and very, very afraid.

Cas ran and met them, whirling and stabbing, and Dean had tried switching out his sword for his shotgun, but he hadn’t been fast enough, going under a mass of demons. When he broke through there were cuts on his face, and blood flew through the air as he swung his sword at them. The first demon met Sam and he sliced neatly in a diagonal uppercut, moving past them before they even fell to the ground. The sounds of battle, of anguished screams, bodies hitting each other, and snaps of breaking bones, met his ears. A demon got behind Sam, and he kicked out at them at the same time he sliced into a demon reaching for his left arm. Amidst the throng of demons, Sam lost sight of Cas and Dean. His heart leapt up into his throat, but he kept fighting. 

He received a kick to his ankle, pain instantly shooting through him. Sam hoped the snap he thought he’d heard was just imaginary. Thankfully it’d been his right foot, so the strength behind his strokes wouldn’t be weakened. He put more of his weight on his left foot, and continued. It didn’t matter that he was injured. He either had to fight through the pain or die. Granted, it’d take him a lot longer to die now, but he didn’t want to die.

Sam pivoted on his left foot and swung out with the sword, planning on having it go clean through the wrist of the demon grabbing for him. But it didn’t. Before he could even get the full power behind the swing, a demon grabbed his right wrist in a bruising grip. The other one he’d been planning on attacking punched him in the face.

Sam kicked out with his right foot, letting out a yelp of pain as he did so, and then swung around to punch the demon that had ahold of him. But as he did that, two more grabbed either arm, and a leg was swept out so his feet were kicked out from under him. Sam’s grip on the sword faltered as he went down. It took two more hands to wrench it away from him, and even more to take away his gun, and then all he saw was legs as they kicked and kicked. They kicked at his back, his chest, his abdomen, his legs, his arms, his hands. Sam tried to cover his head with his hands, but some still managed to kick him there, the blows making him dizzy. A few well-aimed or lucky kicks even hit his groin, which sent sharp stabs traveling up to his stomach. This was it. This was how he was going to die.

His entire body was alive with agony, aching and throbbing. Sam wasn’t sure what part of him hurt more. He couldn’t hear above his screams, but he assumed the same fate must’ve befallen Dean and Castiel.

They’d failed.

“ _NO!_ ”

He wasn’t sure who he was yelling at. Himself? The demons? But it didn’t matter because Sam knew he had to get out of this. He wouldn’t let himself be beaten to death. It’d most likely take hours, and that wasn’t something he was prepared to face.

A sob escaped Sam’s throat, and tears tracked their way down his cheeks as blows continued to rain down upon him in an endless, unforgiving torment. But he tried to draw away from the pain, find a dark, quiet place inside himself.

Sam kept trying, and he thought that maybe the pain was fading, but each kick brought him back to reality, made him unable to focus. One booted foot drove into his stomach, a lot harder than any of the others had, and Sam felt a wave of dizziness as he started to puke. That gave him some reprieve as demons pulled away from him in disgust.

He shuddered and let out a pitiful groan, but then he withdrew inside himself. He found that dark, quiet place. He found his focus. And then he found his powers, cold and glowing and beautiful.

Sam unleashed them with a yell.

Energy surged forth from him, and then the pain stopped. Loud crackling filled his ears, and he opened his eyes to watch his tormentors turn into stone, ice coating over them. The cold exterior cracked the stone, and the once-living statues began to fall to pieces around him. Sam scrambled back to avoid being hit by any large pieces, and he bumped his head on the foot of the stairs.

He’d only slain the demons in his close proximity. The ones Dean and Castiel had been struggling with stopped to look at what he’d done with wide eyes. Fearing that he and Castiel were now much more powerful targets than Dean, they set their attention to them.

Sam got himself up off the ground before anyone could start kicking him again. His head swam, and his entire body ached as he stumbled over to retrieve his shotgun. He got to it just in time. A demon grabbed onto his elbow, but he turned, and hit them in the face with the shotgun, putting as much force behind it as he could. The demon reeled back and Sam started shooting. 

Amongst the mass of demons he ended up side by side with Castiel.

“You good?” Sam asked him quickly.

“Yep. You?”

“Been better,” Sam answered as he fired at a demon straight between the eyes.

His ears began to ring as more gunshots fired out somewhere on the other side of the room. There was a click as he ran out, and Sam whacked a demon in the head with the gun.

“Cas, cover me,” Sam answered.

He crouched down behind the angel, who started smiting demons, his hands glowing with holy power. He dug his phone out of his pocket, and then started playing the recorded exorcism. It wasn’t possibly loud enough, and it had to be heard in order for it to work, but it would have to do.

The demons near him instantly stopped fighting, and they started screaming, a loud cacophony of different voices all blending together. Black smoke began to emanate from their mouths, and the bodies twitched as the demons fought to stay in their vessels. It grew and grew into a thick, ugly cloud, swirling together, and then it went downwards, descending into Hell. The floor burned as the wall between the dimensions thinned, and then those few demons were gone, their bodies dropping to the floor. A dark circle remained on the floor where Hell had opened for the demons for just a few seconds, and most of the fighting came to a pause. In order to have his hands free, Sam pocketed his phone, quickly retrieved his sword, and let out a shout as he rejoined the battle.

More and more demons were dropping, smoke rising from their bodies, orange flashes of light shining from within them. 

Though he was out of breath, Sam began to yell the exorcism as he fought, “ _Exorcizamus te_ …” – he swung his blade in a horizontal thrust, beheading the demon in front of him – “ _omnis immundus spiritus_ …” – Sam dodged a punch aimed at him, sliced off the offending hand, and then whirled, elbowing the demon in the gut so it fell backwards – “ _omnis satanica potestas_ …” – Castiel went down beside him as a demon stabbed a knife into his thigh, and Sam went to his aid – “ _omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_ …” – Cas pulled the blade free as Sam gutted the demon standing over him, its body flashing with orange light as smoke rose from it – “ _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ …” – it slid off his sword, and Sam helped Castiel to his feet – “ _ergo drago maledicte_ …” a demon kicked out at him, to which Sam leapt aside, putting off their balance – “ _ut ecclesiam tuam secura_ …” – as the demon stumbled, Sam punched it in the face, and loud cracks met his ears as its neck broke, its head dangling backwards, bones popping through its skin – “ _tibi facias libertate servire_ …” – horror added to the fear through him as he observed what he’d done, but then he quickly stabbed his longsword into the demon’s stomach, putting it out of its misery – “ _te rogamus_ …” – a knife slashed into his left arm, and another into his abdomen, hot pain flaring through him – “ _audi nos_!”

Sam fell to the ground, his vision tunneling just as black smoke began to fill the air. It was so thick he lost sight of the angel beside him. And then it descended, the demons returning to their realm. The bodies of the vessels all fell to the ground as one, nearly causing the stone floor to shake. He could now see Dean, standing across from him, blood covering him, his left arm dangling uselessly. 

The silence that followed seemed too loud after the rage of the battle. Dean rushed over, helping Sam to his feet, and Cas looked around them.

“Did I get ‘em all?” Sam asked.

“Looks like. Good work.”

Dean’s discarded shotgun was on the floor a few feet away, and it wasn’t smoking, meaning he’d run out of salt rounds some time ago. 

His brother winced, and Sam looked at him in concern.

“I’ll be fine,” he said as Sam got a glance of his right hand, the skin of his palm completely slashed open.

“Let’s go find Crowley,” Sam told them.

They picked their way amongst the dead bodies, looking for a way down.

“Guys, I think I found something,” Dean said.

And then there was a metal creak as a door opened. 

“Looks like this is it.”

Sam barely heard Dean, his vision locked onto the pools of blood covering the floor. He licked his lips. It was all just sitting there. It’d be easy. It’d be so easy. He wanted to bathe in it, to drink it, to be one with it.

“Sam?”

He shook his head as he heard his brother call his name, and he looked to him.

“You coming?” Dean asked.

Sam limped to his side, doing his best to forget about the demon blood for now. He saw that Dean had found a dark staircase that went downwards, deeper into the building.

“Ladies first,” Dean teased Sam, gesturing with his good arm.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he snapped. But then he started making his way down the stairs.

Cas went next, and then Dean.

It was dark down there, so Sam almost bumped into a metal door that was in front of him. To stop himself he had to put more weight on his right foot, and he nearly fell.

“Fuck!” he cried out, pain shooting up his leg.

Cas righted him with a hand on each of his shoulders. Maybe it would’ve been better to hit the door unceremoniously. Embarrassment was far better than pain.

“What is it?” Dean asked anxiously.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing. It’s my ankle. I’ll be all right.”

He took a deep breath, and then felt along the door for a handle. He found it, twisted it, and then swung the door open.

There was light inside that streamed down from outside through a barred window on the left, cut high into the wall. Stains of dried blood, the colors dark brown and deep red, marred the dusty gray floor. Broken bits of wood were strewn about the room, and a table with metal handcuffs connected to it took up the middle of the room. The chair beside it was empty.

As he went further into the room, the smell hit him. It was the sour stench of an unwashed body, and the metallic scent of blood. More than that, it was dank, moldy, and the fear that that room had been home to for so many others was nearly palpable.

“Oh look, it’s Bloody Mary,” a voice with a British accent said. It sounded weak, beaten down, but Sam still recognized it.

He peered around the table. Crowley was chained to the wall, sitting, his hands raised above his head. His fingers looked like discolored sausages and he was barefoot, blood staining his soles. His black clothes were dirtied with his own blood, which looked like it must have trickled down from his face and neck. His dark pants were rolled up to his knees, and the skin of his shins was simply missing, leaving red blood and muscles visible.

“Or should I be calling your mother that?” Crowley finished as Sam looked him over with pity and disgust.

With his adrenaline still high, it wasn’t hard at all for anger to kick in. He rushed over to Crowley as the former king cried out, “What are you doing? I thought you were supposed to be my knight in shining armor.”

Sam ignored him and grabbed his throat, hoisting him up as far as the chains allowed.

Castiel and Dean rushed into the room.

“Sam, stop,” Castiel commanded.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean cried out. “We’re here to save him, not to kill him!”

Though the anger and adrenaline and mad rush of fighting still resided within him and he wanted nothing more than to crush Crowley’s throat, Sam released him. Crowley fell to the floor, choking and gasping.

“I’ve always fantasized about you choking me, Sam,” he got out, “but that isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Dean shoved Sam aside just as he growled at him, and pulled his lock picking kit out of his back pocket, and set to it.

“See, Dean knows how to treat a damsel in distress,” Crowley told Sam, before turning to Dean. “Hey, lovely to see you again. You know, the blood really brings out your eyes.”

His brother grumbled, “Not now.”

“So I can flirt with you later?” Crowley asked.

Castiel ended that weird moment by questioning, “Did Vadrach get anything out of you?”

Crowley laughed. “Besides my charm and witty remarks? Nothing.”

“Good.”

Dean finished with the manacles around his hands, and then started helping Crowley to his feet.

He gestured for Sam to help support Crowley’s other side, and he did so.

“Oh wow,” Crowley said. “I’m sandwiched between both Winchester brothers. Am I in Heaven?”

Castiel glared daggers at him before leading the way out.

When they got up to the first floor, Dean didn’t even let Crowley pause to take in all the dead bodies strewn about. Sam let go of him, and said something about having Castiel take him, which he did.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean asked.

“I need to check something,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

“We need to go,” his brother urged. “Come on!” 

He ignored him. “Get Crowley out. I should only be a minute.”

“Let the Moose do what he needs to do,” Crowley chimed in.

Dean and Castiel both growled at him, but then they got him out the door. Sam waited, counting slowly to ten in his head. And then he set his sights on the demon blood on the floor. His thoughts slowed, his mind going numb to anything but that. The wild animal clawing away in his chest was shrieking, realizing how close it was to what it wanted, what it needed.

Sam lowered himself to his knees and ran both his hands through the thick puddles of blood. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he finally lifted his bloodied hands to his mouth and began to ravenously lick them.

Oh, he’d missed this so much. It wasn’t just the taste, it was the power, it was the act in and of itself. Sam’s heart seemed to sing as he had more. And then more, and more.

He didn’t stop till he heard screams coming from outside.

He snapped back to himself and looked in horror at the blood on his hands. He quickly wiped them on his jacket, and wiped the blood away from his lips. He caught sight of Dean’s discarded shotgun, grabbed it, and then retrieved his own, before making his way outside.

Demons were coming out of the woods, drawing closer.

“So there was another way in and out?” Sam asked as he jogged up to Dean, Cas, and Crowley.

“Apparently,” his brother muttered.

“Or they were already out here,” Castiel chimed in.

“Lovely,” Sam breathed.

And then he got in front of them, putting himself between them and the demons.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean asked.

He ignored his brother, closing his eyes, and took in a deep breath. There were too many demons to fight. He had to do this. He had to. Sam delved into that dark place within him that had been fueled by the demon blood, and started to reach out to the demons in front of him. But then he faltered. No. He couldn’t. So Sam drew from his other source of power, for the cold and the stone.

When he opened his eyes he saw what appeared to be wind, carrying ice-blue frost with it. It hurtled towards the demons, who had now paused, looking to each other in confusion. It hit the ones in the front, and their bodies turned to ice. The ones behind them tried to run, but the energy overpowered them, and they were transformed as well.

It had only taken a few seconds, but it felt like ages had passed when Sam turned back around to his brother, his friend, and Crowley.

“Have you always been able to do that?” Crowley asked.

“No. Come on, let’s go.”

They took turns helping Crowley through the woods, to where they left their bags. All four of them, even Sam, were unnerved when they had to pass through the little museum of ice sculptures the woods had become. The air was colder from then on and trees were frosted over, as if they’d passed over a threshold into another world.

Once they got to their bags, Dean and Sam patched themselves up as best they could. Sam used a wad of gauze to collect blood from all of them. 

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked, which was followed by a wince as Sam dabbed at his shins.

“Quiet. I need to concentrate.”

“I like you giving me orders,” Crowley teased, which made Sam release a warning growl.

Once the gauze had blood from all four of them, and Dean had collected their things, Sam ordered them to clear their minds. They did, and he spoke, his eyes closed, “ _Itinere quantum breve tempus. Nos locum quaerere._ ”

Just like earlier in the day, the rushing sound filled his ears, and then silence, followed by weightlessness. And then solid ground was beneath his feet again. He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of the war room of the bunker.

They were home. And they’d done it. They’d rescued Crowley.

But Sam’s heart felt heavy.

He wasn’t the same person he’d left as.

He’d drunk more demon blood than he had in years.

He was once more who Azazel had wanted him to be.

The boy with the demon blood.


	38. I Can't Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to a decision about what to do now that he has more demon blood in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did it take so long for me to update? Let's see... I got in a car accident (I'm all healed up from that now though), I had to pack for college and then move in and get acclimated (also the work load's been killing me), and then I was in the hospital for a bit, and I'm still kind of sick. Thank you all for being so patient.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a very detailed suicide attempt. Please do not read it if it's going to trigger you. And don't worry about missing out on anything if you do have to skip this chapter. I'll have a trigger-free summary at the beginning of the next chapter.

Adrenaline was such a helpful chemical, and one Sam was very familiar with. It enhanced his reflexes, made him process what was going on around him at a much quicker rate, gave him strength and energy. But what he’d been most glad of was that it masked how much pain he was truly in. Almost as soon as they were all back in the bunker, his adrenaline high faded.

Sam hadn’t wanted to end up on the floor, but his injuries didn’t agree with him. His right ankle gave out, and he fell. The impact with the hard floor jarred his abused body, and he gritted his teeth so as to not cry out. Castiel glanced at him worriedly, but helped Crowley out of the room, probably to one of the many empty bedrooms they had. Dean dropped the bags on the floor and shuffled over, offering him his bloodied and bandaged hand.

He shook his head, which he instantly regretted, and laid down. “Just give me a minute,” he breathed.

He hurt everywhere, including places where he really didn’t want to hurt, but the kicks to his groin had apparently caused some sort of damage.

_Great. Of all the places to get injured._

Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain. His ankle seemed to be screaming at him, and there were stabs of pain traveling from in between his legs up to his stomach. It was actually making him nauseous. His throat burned, a reminder of having already puked once that day, and he certainly wasn’t up for doing that again. There was a scrape as Dean struggled to pull out a chair, but then he set himself down in it.

“Um… Sam,” he started. “You good?”

A sound left him that was a mix of a laugh and a groan. “I’m not dead,” he responded.

“No, no. I mean, um…” Sam opened his eyes to see Dean uncomfortably gesturing down at him, and he was blushing slightly.

“Huh?”

His brother chuckled. “You kinky son of a bitch.”

Now realizing where Dean must have been gesturing, Sam looked down at his crotch.

_Wonderful. It looks like I have an erection._

He groaned. “Dude, I got kicked a few times, okay?” he explained. “There’s just… swelling.”

“You sure you didn’t get, you know…” He trailed off and made an obscene pumping gesture with his injured hand. But then he winced, instantly regretting it.

“Shut up,” Sam muttered. “Don’t make me kick _you_ there.”

His brother laughed. “Sure. Just as soon as you get off the floor.”

“You know what? Screw you.”

“Joking aside,” Dean said, “that’s gotta hurt. Just, um… ow.” His brother shifted with discomfort, a look of horror on his face at the thought of something like that happening to him.

“Hey, at least I have a broken ankle to distract me from the pain.”

Dean’s head shot up. “Wait, what? You’ve been walking on it?”

“Adrenaline,” he explained.

“Ah.”

His brother grunted as he stood. “I’m gonna go get Cas,” he informed him. “You stay there.”

“Nah, I think I’ll go take the Impala out for a spin,” he joked tiredly.

Though Dean no doubt heard the sarcasm in his voice he still gave him a stern look, and then he went to go find their friend.

Sam ached and burned and just wanted all the pain to stop, as he lay there. His entire body felt like one giant bruise. Hell, it probably was given the beating he’d taken. And underneath all that was regret. Regret that buried so deeply it manifested as a soreness in the center of his chest. Why had he had more demon blood? Why? At the time it’d felt right. More than right. It felt like something that had been supposed to happen, like he’d been following the natural order of things.

Right now, amidst his agony and his regret, Sam wanted to die. There had been many times in his life when he’d wanted to die, but right now it’d feel like a relief. He wouldn’t have to go on anymore. Everything would just end. No more pain, no more worries, no more of the heavy burden on his shoulders, no more memories. No more anything. Besides, Dean and Cas would be better off. They’d mourn him at first, but then they’d see that life was better without him. They’d move on.

Sam wished to do something about that this minute, but he couldn’t. He at least needed the ability to walk first. All the injuries could stay. Soon, they wouldn’t matter much anyway. However, he didn’t want to be lying pathetically on the floor when the angel looked him over, so he sat up. Doing so was a lot harder, and more painful, than he wanted to admit. Then, Sam shuffled around a bit till he was facing the library, wincing at the sharp jabs the motion sent to his stomach. God, this was embarrassing. He could handle all his other injuries just fine, but having an issue down there was not something he’d been prepared to deal with.

Dean came back, Cas beside him. The angel, whose shoulder seemed to be at an odd angle, casually pushed at it and popped it back into place, without even pausing in his stride. A groan left him, to which Dean eyed him worriedly. Castiel ignored the look.

“Sam, you know I could’ve looked at your ankle earlier.”

He shrugged. “ We were kinda in the middle of something.”

“You Winchesters really don’t know how to take care of yourselves,” he muttered as he knelt down beside him.

Castiel took ahold of his right ankle, the pressure causing it to throb even more. He nearly pulled his leg away, but fought down the instant reaction.

“It’s not a very large break,” he informed him. “Just a small fracture. It won’t take too much to heal.”

At that a gentle, white-blue light emanated from his hand. For a slight second Sam became hyper-aware of the damage to his ankle, burning sensation encompassing him. In a second it was gone, and his ankle was healed.

His friend offered out his hand to help him up, and Sam gladly took it. A grunt left him as he got to his feet, and then he limped over to the closest chair and sat himself down in it.

“Is your ankle-”

“It’s fine now,” Sam informed him. “Thanks.”

“Then what-”

“Sammy took one too many hits to the family jewels,” Dean explained, seeming to still find the situation rather funny.

Sam shot him a look that basically said, _Fuck you,_ and then sighed. “Classy.”

His brother smirked. “I try.”

Meanwhile, Castiel was observing him there. Though his gaze was merely professional and he knew the angel didn’t have the same views about privacy and sexual organs, Sam still felt rather uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to take care of that?” he asked.

Dean’s face turned a little pink, as if he was holding in laughter, so Sam just covered his face with his hand.

“Just do it,” he stated. Then he added, “But don’t touch me there.”

“It’d be easier to heal you if I did.”

Sam groaned. “I don’t care. I’ve already been touched there way too many times without me wanting it.”

Castiel let out a breath and then said quietly, “Right.”

“Besides,” Dean said, “do you really want to touch another man’s junk?”

When Castiel next spoke his voice was perfectly innocent, “What would be wrong with that?”

A few seconds passed in silence and Sam lifted his head up to find his brother and the angel staring at each other intently.

“Hello,” he broke in. “Still in need of healing over here.”

Cas turned back to him. “Yes, of course.”

Dean cleared his throat, and lowered his head, now fiddling with the bandage on his right hand. The angel pressed his hand to his forehead, and Sam gritted his teeth in anticipation. That didn’t do much to stop him from crying out when a new sort of agony took over, one that he was unfamiliar with. It didn’t take long for that, and for the original aching sensation, to fade, and then he realized that his pants didn’t feel so tight anymore.

A relieved sigh left him as Castiel pulled his hand away. Then something unexpected happened. His brother started laughing.

“What now?” he growled out.

Dean shook his head, and tried to rein himself in. “Nothing. I’m good.”

Sam raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Uh huh.”

He seemed resigned to not telling him, and he even managed to stay silent for a few seconds, but then he broke out laughing again. “It looked like a fucking balloon got deflated,” he commented.

Sam’s cheeks reddened at that. “Let’s just forget this whole thing even happened, okay?”

“Humans are weird,” Castiel simply stated before going over to take a seat across from Sam.

His brother took off his jacket, nearly whimpering as he did so, and then he went over to him, holding out his left arm. “You mind putting my elbow back in place?” he asked him. “I can’t do it by myself like Mr. Badass over there.”

“You sure you want me doing that?” Sam asked. “You’re giving me the perfect opportunity to get back at you for all those comments you just made.”

“Just help me out here, man,” he grumbled.

Sam sighed and rolled Dean’s sleeve up, being as gentle as possible despite what he’d said. The bone was jutting out in a way it most definitely wasn’t supposed to. With one hand, Sam gripped Dean’s bicep and with the other, just beneath his elbow.

“On three,” he told him.

Dean nodded.

“One, two…”

He pulled forcefully, putting his elbow back into place with a clean snap.

“Shit!” Dean shouted, retreating from him, and cradling his elbow to his chest. “I thought you said _on three_!”

Sam shrugged. “I didn’t want you tensing up on me.”

“That fucking hurt!”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

A growl left his brother and he made a show of pacing around a bit, his face lined with pain. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” he mimicked in a whiny voice as he took a seat next to him.

Sam chuckled. “You’re welcome.” Then he turned his attention to Cas. “How’s Crowley?”

“Sleeping,” he informed him. A frown of confusion took over Sam’s face, so Castiel went on to explain, “I knocked him unconscious with my powers. I thought it’d be better to give him some relief from his pain. He seems to be very strained, perhaps mentally as well.”

“Yeah, torture’ll do that to you,” Sam explained.

Before memories of how he knew just that could surface and make his life even worse than it already was, he pressed his feet forcefully against the floor, focusing solely on that sensation. That was a trick he’d learned not long after Cole had captured him and had tortured him for information on Dean’s whereabouts. It didn’t always work, but at least it was better than getting dragged off by vivid and horrific flashbacks.

Dean’s voice broke through his concentration. “Sam?”

He snapped his head back up and focused on him. “Yeah?”

“You with us?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“So like I was saying,” Dean started, “if Vadrach’s still out there, we’re gonna have to take care of him.”

“You sure we didn’t kill him today?” Sam asked.

“I’m sure,” Castiel answered. “Trust me. I know his face, and he wasn’t there.”

This conversation wasn’t actually important to him, but he would go along with it for now. The last thing he needed was Dean and Cas worrying about him.

“So we heal up, we go back and fight another day.”

“He probably won’t be there anymore,” Cas said.

“Great, so we just wait until he starts racking up a body count?” Dean asked.

“There’s nothing else we _can_ do,” Sam explained. “How are we supposed to find him without having anything to go by?”

“Maybe Crowley knows something,” Cas suggested.

“Okay, maybe he does,” Dean began, “but I’m pretty sure he’s not up for more interrogation, even if we are friendlier than Hell’s new king.”

“Then we just have to wait,” Sam reasoned. “Look, there’s nothing we can do for now. Why don’t we all just rest up?”

“That’s the best thing you’ve said all day,” Dean told him. His brother stood and stretched, a yawn cracking his jaws. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m so ready to take a nap.” He began sauntering his way out of the war room. “Goodnight!” he called to them.

Sam swallowed roughly, and then lied, “I’m gonna go take a nap too. See you later, Cas.”

His heart twinged as he said those words, but he was still resolute on what he had to do. The world would be better off. He would be better off.

Sam didn’t bother to see if Cas believed him before he went to his room.

_Okay... How to do this?_

This wasn’t exactly anything he’d contemplated on this level before. Well, he supposed he had with the Trials, but that was easy. He’d already been dying anyway.

_Will this even work?_

He wasn’t too sure. According to Ivan, he was partially immortal now, so was trying even worth it?

The dark taint of demon blood that he felt in him, that pulled at him, making him crave even more, decided it for him. This was something he had to do.

_Besides,_ Sam told himself as he got out a piece of paper and a pen, _what do I even have to live for?_

He just hurt. It wasn’t even the other injuries he had that bothered him. It was his life, his existence. Yet again he’d been used, pulled into something he’d wanted no part of, and then it’d brought up everything he’d wanted to forgot, everything that marred his soul and robbed him of sleep at night. And then he’d tainted himself, given in to the corruption placed within him when he was six months old, the blackness that he’d been born with. 

Dean was already pissed that he’d been using the amulet’s powers, but if he found out about the demon blood… Sam worried that he’d be locked up again. Or worse. That he’d never want to see him again.

Sam didn’t care about any of the plans he’d made with Rowena, he didn’t care about his previous commitment to ending all this by taking the rest of Ivan’s powers. He just didn’t care. Why did any of it matter when he could just end it here and now?

But there was no way he could do that without explaining to Dean and Castiel the why of it. So he uncapped his pen, and he started writing. As he did so his vision blurred with tears that were begging to be shed.

 

_Dear Dean and Cas,_

_I want you to know that this was something I had to do. I know you’re hurting, but it’ll get better. I promise. I’d made too many mistakes recently, and there were too many things I couldn’t come back from. This isn’t just because of what you found out about me. It’s not just because of the amulet._

_I drank demon blood again._

_You see, that’s why I had to do this. I couldn’t let myself turn down a dark path again. I couldn’t let others suffer because of me._

_Not again._

_I couldn’t go on._

_I hope in time you’ll forgive me._

_-Sam_

 

He sniffled and wiped at his face, now noticing the tears running down his cheeks. A few of them had even dripped down onto the paper. Sam read over what he wrote, and he nodded his head once. That would have to do.

_Now, how to do this…_

He looked around the room as he considered his options. There was a gun under his pillow, but that’d be too messy. The bag with the longsword was still back in the war room. Maybe he could run himself through with it. No, that didn’t seem like a great way either. And what if he just ended up injuring himself further rather than dying?

He looked up as he tried to think this over, making the ache in his throat more palpable.

And then his fan caught his attention.

It looked sturdy enough.

But just to test it out Sam went on his bed, and stood. His left arm and abdomen burned in admonition as he reached up and started pulling at the fan, testing its strength. As another test he lifted his feet up off the bed, letting the fan hold all of his weight. His arm really didn’t like that, and neither did his right wrist, which he suspected was sprained. But it didn’t matter. Nothing would matter soon.

The fan held.

He dropped back down to the bed and then got off of it. It screeched as he pushed it to the side. Once it was out of the way he brought over his chair from his desk, and placed it under the fan. He stood on it and promptly began to undo his belt.

Sam barely thought about what he was doing as he wrapped it around his neck, and then ran it through the buckle. All he was aware of was how much he hurt, how much he wanted all this to end, how much he hated himself. With tears blurring his vision, he reached up and attached his belt to the fan, making sure the knot was strong enough to hold.

He kicked the chair out from under him.

Sam was robbed of oxygen as the chair fell and he hung limply from the fan. His instincts were screaming at him to reach up to try and release himself, but a deeper, more incessant part was forcing his body to relax, to just let it happen.

It was what he deserved.

This hurt his neck, to say the least, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care about anything.

He dangled there, his vision going black, his lungs and head feeling like they were about to explode. And he waited.

And waited.

But death didn’t take him.

He just hung there, suffering.

Sam wasn’t sure how much time passed like this, but now he hated every second so intensely he felt it in every fiber of his being; burning, screaming, stabbing. This had to end. It all had to end.

But it didn’t.

And he hated everything.

He lost awareness of everything but the agony in his body, the wish to die, and the way his lungs screamed for air. Panic had died down in him long ago. This was now his reality. And it would remain that way until nothingness took him.

There was a voice, shouting. Hands were on him.

Sam hit the floor, and the pressure around his neck ceased.

He breathed.

Sam coughed and gasped, and his head swam as his vision tried to clear.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Dean shouted at him.

But then something occurred to Sam and he started laughing.

“Sam!” he shouted, clearly terrified and confused.

But he couldn’t stop laughing.

He coughed and he laughed, and tears streamed down his face.

Sam managed to get out, “I can’t die!”

His vision cleared and he focused on his brother’s horrified, pale face. But no sympathy tugged at his heart. Instead a sort of blackness seemed to take over.

He laughed some more.

“I can’t die!”


	39. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to understand why Sam attempted to kill himself, and Sam makes a decision about his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's a trigger-free summary of the previous chapter for those who weren't able to read it:  
> Castiel knocked out Crowley just so he could get some relief from his pain, and then he healed Sam's worst injuries (not before Dean teased him a lot about getting kicked in the groin), and the three of them discussed what to do about Vadrach. While Dean went to go take a nap, Sam lied he was going to do the same, and then he tried to hang himself. It didn't work because of the amulet, and Dean found him and cut him down. This chapter starts right where chapter 38 ended.

Dean didn’t want to believe what he had just found Sam attempting to do. Didn’t want to believe that it was possible for his brother to be hurting so much to even contemplate such a thing. But the belt he’d had to cut to get his brother down from the fan wasn’t lying, and neither were the purple bruises forming around his neck. Sam had tried to commit suicide. And thank god he’d failed, but now he didn’t know what to do. And the reason he’d failed didn’t sit well with him.

His little brother was immortal.

Or he was very close to it, but nothing about that was right.

Sam was still laughing, maybe from shock, maybe from despair. Dean didn’t know, and he felt completely lost and helpless. He didn’t think there was anything he could do to help.

“Sam!” he shouted at him, grabbing his shoulders. “Sam, just calm down. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“I can’t die,” he informed him again, his laughter now dying down into giggles. “I can’t die.”

Dean just nodded his head, unsure of what else to do. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that.”

Sam’s laughter grew quieter and went on for a few more seconds before he went completely silent. It was unnerving. He looked around the room, and then clambered to his feet. Dean didn’t let go of him as he did so, also standing.

“You good?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam looked away, frowning. “I think so.”

“You think so? That’s it? You try to kill yourself and that’s it?!”

Sam shrugged, the motion eerily calm. “What else am I supposed to do? It didn’t work. Here I am.”

“You want to explain why you tried killing yourself?”

He shook his head.

“Sammy, please,” Dean pleaded, his throat beginning to ache. “I-I wanna understand. I wanna help. Please, let me help.”

“You can’t.”

“Just let me try!”

Sam moved his chair back over to his desk, and Dean noticed him staring at a piece of paper on it. He moved closer and was able to see that whatever was written on it was in his brother’s handwriting.

“What’s that?” he questioned.

“Nothing,” Sam responded, turning to him and moving so that he blocked his view.

He folded it up and put it in his pocket, glaring at Dean as he did so. His brother’s eyes looked all wrong. Sure, they were definitely his eyes. But at the same time, they weren’t. It’d been years since he saw him look like that, since he saw that kind of darkness in him. And he found himself nearly taking a step back.

“Sammy,” he started, “come on. It’s me.”

“Just get out.”

“What?”

He pointed at the door. “ _Get. Out!_ ”

Dean turned to do as he said, but then he stopped. What would walking out that door mean? Would Sam be okay without him? Would he end up running from him? From Cas? Would this be it?

The culmination of the past two weeks really hit him. Sam wasn’t Sam anymore. Sure, he’d been acting like himself after the battle, but the familiarity of fighting together had also made Dean forget his anger towards him, and maybe it’d done something similar to Sam. But now it was clear. His brother had changed, and if he left now, there could be no getting him back. He took in a deep breath, steeling himself, and then faced his brother.

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

Sam’s upper lip trembled, and he tilted his head. “Dean, don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”

“You’ve already done something you regret. I don’t know what, but I know you have.”

“I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “Look, I don’t care what it is you did. You can move past it. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Sam looked up, his hazel eyes mournful. “That’s what you don’t get. I _can’t_ move past it.”

“Maybe not on your own. But you have me, you have Cas. I know the past few days have been tense, but we don’t hate you, Sam. We could _never_ hate you. _I_ could never hate you. You’re my brother, and I just want to help. That’s all I want to do. I just want to help.”

“You really want to help?”

Dean nodded.

Sam took a step forward, and his voice was low, raw emotion simmering in his tone, “Then get out of my room and leave me the hell alone.”

Dean stood his ground.

And Sam punched him in the face. The blow sent Dean tumbling to the floor, and he stayed there, too stunned to get up. And frankly, he was still too sore and exhausted to do so.

“This isn’t you,” Dean told him quietly.

“It is,” Sam insisted. He crouched down by him as he said, “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I realized, why not just be what everyone has tried turning me into all my life? What’s the point in fighting anymore? No matter what I do I always lose. And this way, this way I can _win_.”

“Do you even hear yourself, man? This isn’t _winning_! This is becoming the bitch of every evil thing that’s ever manipulated you.”

Sam lunged at him, and pressed him against the floor, his hands on his shoulders.

Pain showed in his eyes. And Dean knew he’d crossed a line. Sam’s gaze grew unfocused, and then he growled at himself. His grip on his shoulders tightened till it hurt, and Dean gasped.

“S-Sam,” he got out. “Sammy, let go.”

His brother didn’t listen, and he watched as a tear trailed down his face.

In a broken voice he told him, “I’m nobody’s bitch.”

Dean could tell Sam wasn’t fully in the present right now. He was somewhere else, somewhere where he was being hurt, maybe even being touched in a way he hadn’t consented to. And Dean’s chest began to ache. He nearly started crying from knowing his brother even had such atrocious memories. He’d been trying to not think about what he’d found out about Sam’s past, and now it was coming up again, trying to drag him down and bury him. If this is what he felt like he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for Sam.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Sam let go of him, and stood, going over to the other side of the room. He ran a hand through his hair and a shaky breath left him.

Dean had just raised himself up on his elbows when Sam turned back to him.

“I have to do this, Dean,” he told him, his voice quiet. “I have to.”

“Then tell me why. Please, just give me that.”

“Control. I need control over my own life for once, and this is the only way to ensure that. I… I don’t like it either, but this is who I have to become. I’m sorry.” He hung his head, and then said, “Now would you please leave? I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

Dean got to his feet and brushed himself off. He didn’t believe that Sam wouldn’t do anything stupid, but he knew there was nothing else he could say to him. If he wanted to stop him now he’d have to lock him up, and that wasn’t something he wanted to do. He didn’t want to take away from his brother what he was trying so desperately to get. That would just push him further away. He was sure it would.

Before he left, Dean assured him of one fact, one sole thing that wouldn’t change no matter what he did: “I love you.”

And he walked out the door, not bothering to learn if Sam still felt the same.

 

Sam opened his mouth to reciprocate, but the words wouldn’t come to him fast enough.

Finally, they came out: “I love you too.”

And he was speaking to empty air.

His adam’s apple bobbed up and down as emotion surged through him, and he found himself blinking back tears.

He had to leave. He had to. But first, there was something he had to take care of.

Since death mostly couldn’t touch him anymore, there was no use attempting to kill himself again. There was no going back from what he’d done. He needed demon blood now. That was a fact that he couldn’t ignore. And he knew exactly what to do about it.

Sam started packing, throwing clothes into a bag and weapons into another. He ignored all the aches and pains in his body, working through it. Laying down a fake credit card trail didn’t matter anymore. He just had to get away. He already hated himself for punching Dean earlier. And he hated himself even more for what he had to do, but there was no other way for him to go on, no other way for him to gain control.

After he finished packing he went to the dungeon, the key to Ivan’s cuffs in his hand. Ivan was sleeping when he came in, his skin drawn and sickly pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Sam wasn’t quiet about approaching him, and he jumped, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Sam ignored the stench of Ivan’s body odor and knelt down by him, uncuffing him.

“What’s going on?” his slave asked. “And what happened? You look terrible.”

“So do you,” Sam retorted.

He stood, taking hold of the cuffs in one hand. “Now get up.”

Ivan looked down at his knees and Sam growled at him. Then he spoke again, weaving power into his voice, and the amulet glowed brighter, “I said _get up_.”

Instantly, Ivan was on his feet, whimpering from the way his shaking legs must’ve surely been hurting.

“Get showered,” he commanded. “There’s a change of clothes for you on my bed. I have to go somewhere, but when I get back, we’re leaving.”

“Where are we going? And what are you going to do with the handcuffs?”

“I need them for someone else.”

And then Sam left before he could ask him any more questions.

 

Sam didn’t even bother asking if he could borrow the Impala. Dean had left the keys in his jacket pocket, and his jacket was still on the table in the war room. He hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder, which had all the supplies he’d need. And then he left, his mind set on one thing: finding a crossroads.

 

Dean went to go find Castiel. He didn’t know what else he could do, who else he could talk to. He wasn’t in the room he usually stayed in while he was here, so he checked the other available bedrooms, figuring that he must be with Crowley. He was. The lamp on the bedside table was on, casting the room in a dim glow where shadows creeped on the edges. Castiel was in a chair beside the bed, his back to him, and when he peered around him he saw Crowley’s form curled up underneath the blankets. It was weird seeing him in such a vulnerable position. In fact, Dean started to think that maybe now wasn’t a good time.

He took a step back, but Castiel said, “You can come in.”

Dean paused to take in a deep breath and then entered, dragging over another chair to sit beside Castiel.

“How is he?” Dean asked.

“Physically he’ll be fine. I couldn’t heal all his injuries, but I figured you could help fix him up.”

“Physically?”

Castiel nodded.

“So how is he mentally? Don’t tell me he took a one-way ticket to crazy town.”

Cas sighed. “No, he didn’t take a one-way ticket to crazy town.” He turned to frown at him. “That means insane, right?”

Dean couldn’t help but give him a small smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

And then he heaved out a sigh, still thinking over what had happened with Sam.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“I know you. Something’s wrong.”

He stood, pushing his chair back and it scraped against the floor. “Just let me get the first aid kit and then we can talk. I need to be doing something right now.”

Dean left to get one of the many extensive first aid kits that he and Sam had stashed around the bunker. The one in his room was closer, so he grabbed that one, and then he went back to start taking care of Crowley.

“So what couldn’t you heal?” he asked as he set it down on the bed and opened it up.

“His legs. I used most of my powers on his hands and fingers. They were a mess.”

Dean nodded. He suddenly felt really awkward about having to take care of Crowley, but he pushed through it, pulling the blanket off of him. He rolled his pants up to his knees and started undoing the bandages he had hastily put on him earlier.

Castiel let him work in silence for a while, and then he asked, “Didn’t you say you were going to talk to me about what’s going on?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Dean shrugged and then set to wiping gauze soaked in antiseptic over Crowley’s left leg. Cas must’ve really knocked him out because the demon didn’t even flinch.

“And I don’t know how to tell you.” He took in a breath and hated that it was shaky. The image of Sam hanging from the ceiling fan, his belt taut around his neck, his lips turning blue, flashed into his mind, and Dean let out a growl before throwing the supplies down on the bed. “It’s Sam,” he got out. “He… he tried to kill himself.”

Dean had maybe expected his friend to be shocked, but instead he just sat there.

“He did?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Yes, he did. He tried hanging himself from his fan. Used a belt.”

“Is he okay?”

“Define _okay_.”

Castiel then informed him, “According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary the definition of _okay_ is _not very good or very bad_.”

Dean slowly turned and just blinked at him.

“Right. That’s… that’s not what you meant.” There was a pause and then he asked, “Are you okay?”

Dean sat down again and honestly answered, “No. We had a fight. At least I think it was a fight. I said some things that set him off, and then I guess we came to an agreement of some sort. I don’t really know what happened, but I have this awful feeling I can’t shake. He’s gonna do something. Something bad. And I can’t stop him. I mean, sure I could’ve locked him up, but… I _couldn’t_. I just couldn’t do that to him. Oh god, what was I thinking? Maybe I should’ve locked him up. What if he hurts someone?”

Castiel put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Like you said, you couldn’t have locked him up, and given how he’s been recently I think it would’ve only made things worse. You did the right thing.”

“Then why do I feel like whatever he’s about to do is my fault?”

Surprisingly, his best friend had an answer, “Because you sometimes forget that you don’t need to take care of him anymore. And I understand, you had to be there for him while growing up. It’s not easy letting go.”

“It’s not. And why should I let go? Clearly he still needs supervision if he’s turned into this.”

“What do you mean _turned into this_?”

“He’s scary, Cas! He’s… he’s not himself. He told me that he’s going to finally give in and be what he’s been getting pushed towards his whole life.”

Castiel abruptly stood, and Dean looked up at him. “What? What is it?”

“Take care of Crowley. I’m going to make sure Sam doesn’t do anything he regrets.”

“He’s already done something he regrets!” Dean called to him as he left the room.

Castiel stopped in the doorway and turned to him. “Then I’ll stop him from doing anything else.”

Dean got to his feet. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“You already talked to him and it didn’t work, maybe he needs someone else to interfere.”

“Buddy, no offense, but last time you tried talking to him he kidnapped you and held your own blade to your throat. I don’t feel like having a repeat of that.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted. Dean gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him, so Cas went on, “You might only make things worse. Now stay, take care of Crowley.”

Dean let out a sigh. “Fine.”

A few seconds passed in which he tried to make sense of all that was happening and he could still feel Castiel’s presence in the room. “Just bring my brother back, okay?”

“He’s going to be all right, Dean. I’ll make sure of it.”


	40. Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Crowley talk, and Castiel tries to stop Sam from making a decision he can't come back from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of rape in this chapter.
> 
> And, this is news I've been wanting to hold back till the last chapter, but I'm starting to get really excited about it, so... _Deathless_ is only the first fic in a trilogy. That's right! There are going to be two more fics that take place after this one!

Crowley woke up, and despair filled him before he even opened his eyes. He hated that Vadrach must’ve beaten him into unconsciousness, and he hated that he was still chained to the bloody wall.

But he wasn’t.

As he became more oriented with his surroundings he remembered that Castiel and the Winchesters had saved him. There was another presence in the room, and rough hands with a surprisingly gentle touch were wrapping bandages around his calves. He blearily opened his eyes to see that he was in one of the guest bedrooms in the bunker, and the light was dim. Dean was with him. Crowley’s hands didn’t hurt like they had before. In fact, they felt fine. He held them up to his face to study them.

“I’m guessing this was Castiel’s work?” he questioned, showing Dean his hands.

“Yup.”

The older Winchester finished up what he was doing in silence, packing up the first aid kit, and then he started leaving.

Crowley pushed himself up. “What? That’s it?” he questioned. “You save me, and now you don’t even want to ask how I’m doing?”

Dean paused at the door and let out a weary, somewhat overdramatic sigh before asking gruffly, “Fine. How are you?”

Crowley squinted at him as he thought. Something must’ve happened while he was out. Truth be told, it seemed like he had a lot of catching up to do with the Winchesters. A memory of Sam turning all those demons into statues of ice crossed his mind, and he barely managed to hold back a shiver.

“What happened?” he asked him. “Come on, I know something did.”

Dean slowly turned back to him. “Why do you care?”

“’Cause I do. I may not be all warm and cuddly, but I like to think I know you. So talk.”

“Look, I already did this whole talk about my feelings thing with Cas. I don’t need to do it with you too.”

“Fine, you don’t have to bare your soul to me since you’re apparently too manly for that, but at least catch me up on what’s been going on. I’ve been out of the loop.”

Dean let out another sigh, set the first aid kit down and then took the seat by the bed. And he told him what had been going on since he’d lost the throne, about Sam and the amulet, about his slave, the Deathless One. He even explained that Sam was probably more deserving of the title _Deathless One_ now, though he didn’t explain how he knew that or why that was. He told him that Rowena was alive and that she’d stayed with them for a bit but was now only god knew where, and he vaguely explained that Castiel had gone after Sam to stop him from doing something stupid. It was a lot to take in, especially the fact that his mother was alive. Crowley wasn’t sure how he felt about that, still wasn’t sure how he’d felt when he thought she was dead. It was all too confusing.

“So you saved me even though you had all that to deal with?” he questioned, hating how his voice was quiet, weak.

Dean shrugged. “The way I saw it, we had to. Couldn’t leave you like that. Plus, Vadrach seems like a real piece of work.”

“He is.”

“Did Moose want to save me too? And Feathers?”

“Sure. I mean, Sam took a little convincing, but you’ve always been kind of an ass to him. And don’t even get me started on some of the creepy shit you’ve said to him.”

“That’s how I show my love!” Crowley joked, though his voice came out harsher than he’d intended. 

He wasn’t about to admit it to Dean, but it hurt that Sam hadn’t wanted to save him. He liked to think that the Winchesters were his friends. Well, some of the time, at least. And over a year ago he and Dean had been even closer than that, though now it seemed like the older Winchester didn’t want to remember. He didn’t blame him. He was probably ashamed that he’d shared a bed with the King of Hell - _former_ King of Hell - a few times when he’d been a demon. Knowing how touchy Dean was about that time, he decided to not even bring it up, though it remained as an unspoken tension between them.

He was rescued. That’s what mattered.

But the throne still wasn’t his. And, Crowley wondered, did he even have it in him to take it back from Vadrach? Could he reclaim the throne and be king again? Did he _want_ to be king again?

Had he even enjoyed being king?

What did he even want to do?

He was drawn from his thoughts when Dean responded sarcastically, “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m a demon,” he reminded him. “What did you expect?”

“Good point,” Dean conceded. “So… What’s next?”

“Sorry?”

“You know, once you’re healed, what’s next? You gonna take back the throne?”

Crowley frowned and asked slowly, “Do you want me to take back the throne?”

Another shrug. “I’d rather have you ruling Hell than Vadrach. You’re predictable.”

“Predictable!” Crowley scoffed. “Predictable?!”

Dean didn’t look at all fazed by him raising his voice. He didn’t even seem frightened, which made his words ring true. And then, as if it was his goal to get on his nerves, Dean actually _chuckled_.

“See?” he pointed out. “I knew you were gonna get mad at me.”

“Any dolt with half a brain would!”

“And lucky for you, you’re a dolt with a whole brain.”

Crowley’s voice was icy as he informed him, “I didn’t ask for you to insult me.”

“Someone had to.”

“You just saved me from a sadist. Can’t you at least show _some_ sympathy?”

The hunter gestured at his bandaged legs. “I did. Took care of your legs, didn’t I?”

Crowley let out an aggravated growl, and Dean smirked. But the pleasure he seemed to get from insulting him didn’t reach his eyes. There was pain there, and worry. A lot of it. Whatever was going on with Sam, it was big.

 

Upon finding a crossroads, Sam immediately set to work. It was dark and cold, but the cold didn’t bother him like it used to. Most days, he hated it, especially since it could sometimes make him think of Lucifer, but now it seemed more like something he was aware of rather than something he was bothered by. He figured that had to do with the amulet. Now, as it hung around his neck, the light from it - albeit dimmed since he’d first found it - added blue to the golden illumination of the Impala’s headlights. Every movement hurt, but he wasn’t bleeding and nothing was broken, so he ignored it. The pain was unimportant. Besides, even if he was bleeding, and severely at that, it was unlikely that he would die.

Sam hated that fact.

He still wanted to die. He yearned to be met with nothingness with each breath he took, to stop living. He hated himself, hated what he was becoming, what he’d done. But now, he couldn’t go back. There was only forward.

So after checking to make sure the box he had with him contained all the essentials - a photo of himself, dirt from a graveyard (he and Dean liked to keep some around just in case), and a bone from a black cat (the bone was old, taken from a jar he’d found in the bunker) - he buried it in the approximate center of the crossroads, and then he spray-painted a large Devil’s Trap onto the earth. Since it was so large, it required a few cans, but it was worth it. There was no way Sam was letting whatever demon showed up escape. He needed them. And just in case he’d been followed he set up a little surprise around the Devil’s Trap. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it, but it was better to be prepared.

Once that was done he checked that he had everything with him: the demon-killing knife hidden in his boot, the demonic handcuffs in his back pocket, a strip of cloth in case he’d need to use it as a gag, and a lighter. Everything was ready.

So he took in a deep breath and spoke, “ _Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae_.” 

For a few seconds he was alone, the biting wind his only companion. And then there was a small woman standing not five feet from him. She was Asian, her darker skin and slanted eyes telling him that much, but what exact ethnicity, Sam couldn’t tell. She was wearing a black short-sleeved dress with a plunging neckline. The skirt of the dress was short, showing off shapely legs. And Sam had to admit, she was definitely pleasing to look at. But most crossroads demons were, so he wasn’t all that surprised. She had a smile on her face, but then, recognition slowly seeped over her expression and her smile fell.

Her eyes turned blood red as she looked around her, taking in the Devil’s Trap she stood in.

“Which Winchester are you?” she asked in a smooth voice. Then, her eyes landed on the amulet, and the red turned back to a natural deep brown. “Ah, Sam.”

He glanced down at the amulet, and then to her questioningly.

“Word of your new toy has gotten around,” she explained. “Since you’re wearing it I guess you’re as attached to it as everyone says you are.”

Fire burned in Sam’s stomach from her words.

“So what do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Did something happen to your dear brother and you’re here being all heroic?”

Sam could tell she was just trying to show she wasn’t afraid. But he knew what reputation he had amongst demons, what they surely whispered about him. She knew he was dangerous.

Sam smiled, and the demon visibly stiffened.

“I want something from you.”

“That’s usually how this works, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam snapped. The words left his mouth before he even thought about it. The pet name had made his skin crawl, so reacting to it negatively was pure instinct. But now she potentially knew a way to get to him. Before she could start taunting him - he figured most demons would in this situation - Sam told her, “This isn’t about a deal.” He took out the demon-killing knife and began approaching her. Sam couldn’t help but breathe in deeply in anticipation, and he hungrily brought his gaze to the smooth skin of her neck, hoping he’d see her pulse racing. It was.

She took a step back from him.

“You can’t kill me,” she told him. “The king will know it’s you.”

Sam began to circle her, rather enjoying the way she shivered with fear. There really wasn’t much to demons. Once they were trapped all that self-assuredness and cocky confidence went away, leaving a pathetic, cowardly being. And he’d easily done so to her, had stripped her down. Sam felt good having the upper hand for once, and he was going to let himself enjoy it. When he was behind her he leaned over, teasingly dragging the knife across her throat.

“Oh, but I’m not going to kill you,” he told her. Hunger rose up in Sam, gnawing away in his chest, and he brushed her hair aside to inhale her scent. “That would be such a waste.” 

He lowered the knife to her collarbones and wrapped his arm around her as he sliced through her skin. She didn’t scream, but a distressed whine left her.

“What do you want?” she hissed out. “Information? ‘Cause I won’t talk.”

Sam forcefully turned her to face him and said, “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to.”

And then he shoved her down on the ground. She let out a surprised cry and started kicking herself back from him. Sam got on his knees, grabbed her hips and dragged her towards him. He straddled her just to make sure she couldn’t get away, put the knife to her throat as extra incentive for her to not move, and then he started drinking her blood.

The demon beneath him started screaming out of pure terror, and Sam loved it. And he loved the taste of her blood. It was better than the blood he’d had earlier; more fresh, and the feeling of skin against his lips while accompanied with that heat and succulent taste felt more natural. He associated this with the touch of skin. His mind drew back to Ruby, to her running her hands along his thighs as she knelt before him, trying to coerce him into taking her, using his drunken and despairing state to her advantage. He remembered pushing her away, and he remembered being unable to do anything but give in to her relentless attention. His heart ached. And then he remember how her skin had felt beneath his lips, how it’d felt to have her small frame beneath his. Sam felt his body start to grow aroused and he hated it. His throat tightened and his eyes stung with unshed tears.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and ran his tongue over the wound, attempting to draw his focus back to the rush pumping through him, the taste of power. He didn’t want to be aroused. It was the last thing he wanted. It was uncomfortable, and dreadful, and frightening. And, though it was a demon who was beneath him, he didn’t want her to think he had the intention of raping her. Sam had been on the receiving end of that too many times for him to even consider being one to dole out such an atrocity.

His hunger wasn’t quite sated, but he just wanted his damn body to get itself under control, so he pulled back from her and took the handcuffs out of his back pocket.

“Let me go!” she shrieked, writhing beneath him in an attempt to escape.

Sam’s body liked that, and it brought back his desire to kill himself. But that wasn’t an option, so he cuffed her, and got to his feet, dragging her upright with him.

“Not so powerful after all, huh?” he taunted once he licked her blood from his lips.

She kicked him in the shin, and since she was wearing high heels, it _really_ hurt. But Sam didn’t let her go.

“Say you do get me to let go of you,” he began, “what then? You’re in a Devil’s Trap. There’s nowhere for you to run.”

“So what, you’re just going to keep me around to have your way with?”

Sam grimaced at the implications of that and said, “Not exactly. I need demon blood. You’re a demon. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sam!”

His pulse began to race when he heard that deep, panicked voice. It was Castiel.

He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even heard his friend pull up behind the Impala. Castiel was jogging over to him, his coat trailing behind him. Quickly, before he could get too close, Sam released the demon and grabbed the lighter from his pocket. He lit it and then tossed it just outside the Devil’s Trap. Fire sprang up instantly, encircling him, blocking him from the angel. And it wasn’t just any fire. It was holy fire.

Cas stopped short and shielded his eyes against the light.

“Sam, what are you doing?!” he called to him, raising his voice over the intent crackling of the flames.

“What I should’ve done a long time ago!” he called back. “I don’t care what you have to say. I don’t care about trying to be a hero anymore. What do I get for being good? Nothing! I get tortured, I get violated. But this way, this way I can be on top for once. And maybe that’s the right thing to do. After all, I was supposed to be this dark, twisted thing. That was set in stone before I was even born.”

“Nothing is set in stone. Believe me, I know that more than most.”

Castiel blurred in his vision, and Sam blinked the tears away.

His voice broke as he shouted, “Then why do I hurt so much, Cas?!” He repeated in a quieter voice, “Why do I hurt so much?”

“Sam, I know you hurt. I do. But that’s because you’re still fighting, because you haven’t given in. _Don’t_ give in. I know you. I know how strong you are, how compassionate, how resilient, how _good_. You don’t have to become what Azazel tried turning you into, what Lucifer tried turning you into.”

He shook his head sadly, and looked away from him. This _was_ him giving in. In this moment right here, that’s what he’d done. But the only way Sam saw it was that he had to surrender to end up as the one in power, succumb to the darkness inside him, to his fate.

In his peripheral vision he saw the demon backing away from him. He reached out, and snagged the handcuffs, dragging her back over to him. He yanked on her dark hair, exposing the cut on her collarbone so Cas could see. He had to get his friend to realize how hopeless his endeavor was.

“It’s already too late,” he informed him darkly.

“It doesn’t have to be too late. Dean and I, we can help you.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “What? You mean like a detox? I almost died last time. Really don’t feel like going through that again.”

“Dean told me what you did,” he informed him, “what you tried to do. And he told me why you failed. Sam, if we do a detox this time around, we can help you.”

“But maybe I don’t want help!” he snarled.

For a long moment Castiel was silent, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and their harsh breathing. The demon struggled against Sam again, so he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her steady. He glared at Cas through the light of the flames.

“Sam,” he began, his voice broken, “when did this start?”

“You mean the demon blood?” Cas’ stricken expression answered his question. “When I massacred those demons Vadrach sent after us,” Sam admitted, shame making him lower his gaze. That very same shame dug at his stomach till it hurt, and he clenched his jaw. “I… I didn’t mean to. There was just so much blood, a-and I felt so helpless. I… I had to.” He sniffled and brought his gaze back to Castiel. “And I have to do this too.”

Sam slashed the knife across his hand, grunting from the pain, and then he focused his will on the blood that was on the blade, both his and the demon’s. It was a good thing he’d learned that teleportation spell the day before because now he needed it.

Sam chanted, “ _Itinere quantum breve tempus. Nos locum quaerere_.”

The landscape fell away from him, the Devil’s Trap, the ring of holy fire, the Impala, Castiel, and there was nothing but a sense of weightlessness, rushing in his ears, and the terrified demon against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part with Crowley thinking about the times he and Dean have had sex is purely on my interpretation of canon in the beginning of season 10. I've also read a lot of analyses about it and that's just how I view some of what happened, so it felt natural to me to incorporate it into my story.


	41. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets Ivan before he leaves, and Castiel tells Dean what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep since my sister's in the hospital, so voilà, chapter 41!

Sam gasped upon feeling solid ground beneath his feet again and the demon stumbled. He caught her, not so much for her own safety, but because he had to move quickly and didn’t want her slowing him down. He looked around, and through the dark he could just barely make out the bunker. A sigh of relief left him. The spell had worked for him again.

“So you use magic now too?” the demon taunted. “Guess you really have gone to the dark side.”

Sam let out an aggravated growl and turned her to face him. “You’re going to wait here,” he told her. “I have to get a few things.”

“What makes you think I’m going to wait around for you?” she spat.

“This,” Sam answered. 

While she’d been talking he’d searched around for a tree root that was sticking up out of the ground. Thankfully he still had the keys to the handcuffs in his pocket, so before she could fight him, he uncuffed one hand and then attached it the metal link to the root, making her fall to the ground. Once it was secure he tugged on it a few times to make sure she wouldn’t get loose. It seemed like it would do the trick. 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Really? A tree root?”

“Yes, really. Now shut up.”

He turned away from her, about to make his way to the bunker when she called to him, “Aren’t you going to ask me my name? Since you’ve kidnapped me it seems like the only decent thing to do.”

He let out a huff, and asked without looking to her, “What’s your name?”

“Lamazar.”

“Fine, Lamazar, now be quiet.”

“Or what?”

Then Sam turned back to look at her, making sure his tone was low and threatening as he spoke, “Or I’ll put a gag on you.”

He smirked when she remained quiet.

_Guess she doesn’t like that idea._ Sam did since he found her irritating, but he didn’t really see any point to it yet. It wasn’t like screaming for help would do her any good.

He slipped into the bunker quietly, sending an order through the amulet to have Ivan meet him in his room. His stomach knotted with worry, Sam made his way through the bunker, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t run into Dean. His luck held all the way to his room, and he quietly closed the door behind him. Ivan was patiently sitting on his bed, his hair wet, and he was dressed in another pair of his old clothes.

“Showers are weird,” he commented. “It took me forever to figure out how the knobs worked, and then the water-”

“Quiet,” Sam ordered, interrupting him. “We’re leaving and we have to make sure Dean doesn’t find out till after we’re gone.”

He must not have sent the order directly through the amulet because Ivan questioned, “Why are we leaving?”

Sam went over and picked up the bags he’d left on the bed, wincing at the strain that put on his sprained wrist, as he replied, “I don’t owe you an explanation. You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

Ivan looked up at him with wide eyes, but didn’t say anything else. He watched him as Sam went over to his desk where he’d left his phone, grabbing it and putting it in his pocket. He didn’t have to turn off the GPS just yet since Dean wouldn’t yet know what he was up to, and he wasn’t about to leave without it. He wanted to be able to get in contact with Rowena if need be. His hand brushed against something, a piece of paper, and he dug it out.

After unfolding it he began to read:

 

_Dear Dean and Cas,_

_I want you to know that this was something I had to do. I know you’re hurting, but it’ll get better. I promise. I’d made too many mistakes recently, and there_ \- 

 

Sam clenched it in his fist, swallowing roughly. Right, he’d put his suicide note in his pocket to keep Dean from seeing it. But maybe he should see it. Maybe it’d help him understand. Sam let out a long breath, his upper lip trembling slightly. He placed the note down on his desk, then turned to Ivan.

“Come on. I’ll carry you once we get out of the bunker.”

As he left his room he sent a mental command to the amulet, imbuing it with as much will as he possibly could. He really did need Ivan to be quiet, and he knew that walking hurt him. He wasn’t stupid, so he trusted him to not speak, but natural sounds of pain would surely leave him. Sam couldn’t allow that. His power over him proved itself yet again as Ivan dutifully followed him out of his room and through the bunker, and not a sound left him. But Sam didn’t look back to see the hurt in his blue eyes. That might make him feel guilty, and that was the last thing he needed.

They didn’t run into Dean, and once they were out of the bunker Sam let out a relieved breath. He also made sure to take the magical gag off of Ivan. It felt too inhumane keeping it on. What Sam really wanted to do was take one of the old cars in the garage, but Dean would be able to follow a trail that way. He’d have to walk into town with his slaves and steal a car. A shiver went through him and it wasn’t from the cold. It unnerved him greatly that that’s what Ivan and Lamazar were to him; his slaves. What the hell had his life turned into? But there was no going back now, so Sam unceremoniously threw Ivan over his shoulder to carry him like he’d promised, his beaten body not liking it one bit, and then he went over to where he’d left Lamazar.

Sam dropped Ivan on the ground next to her, and set his bags down. One of them contained a few changes of clothes and toiletries, and the others had supplies and weapons, including the longsword.

“Who the _hell_ is that?” Lamazar asked in outrage.

“Lamazar, meet Ivan. Ivan, Lamazar.”

“Um… what?” his first slave asked.

“She’s your new friend,” Sam said sarcastically as he dug through the large duffle bag with the weapons. “Play nice.”

He found what he was looking for - a length of chain - and then he uncuffed Lamazar from the tree root before clamping the cuff around her wrist once more. He secured the chain to the handcuffs and smiled grimly.

“W-why is she bleeding?” Ivan asked.

“‘Cause the creepy son of a bitch-”

As soon as she’d opened her mouth Sam whipped the strip of cloth out and he cut her off, securing it in her mouth and around her head. She screamed at him, her eyes turning blood red, possibly as an intimidation tactic. It didn’t work on him.

“I was thirsty,” Sam answered bluntly.

He zipped up the duffle bag and got to his feet before throwing it and the other bag over his shoulder. And then he placed Ivan over his shoulder again. He wrapped the chain securely around his hand to drag Lamazar up, but she resisted. With the weight of the bags, and Ivan, he found himself having a hard time getting her to do as he willed. His injuries throbbed and screamed and Sam let out a pained and frustrated growl.

“I’d cooperate,” Ivan told her, his tone oddly casual. “It’s just easier that way.”

She gave Ivan a despairing glance and then looked to Sam again. He couldn’t precisely tell through the dark of the night, but he thought he saw a tear roll down her cheek. Lamazar stood. And Sam started walking, heading towards town.

Though Sam had some light from the amulet, trekking through the woods at night was no easy feat. He had to constantly watch where he was going and his path zigzagged all over the place as he avoided boulders, and tree roots, and fallen logs, and bushes that were too obstinate for him to get through. Thanks to his father, and to hunting in general, he and Dean had spent many nights walking, and even running, through the woods, so he didn’t have as difficult or frustrating a time as others might. He knew what to look out for. But he was tired, and aching, so he wasn’t traveling nearly as quickly as he’d like to. But hopefully it’d still be some time before Dean realized he was missing.

“Sam,” Ivan began after a few minutes, “what do you mean you were thirsty?”

“You don’t know everything about me, Ivan.”

He huffed. “I realize that, which makes me regret having you become my master.”

“Well too bad.”

Another huff, this one weary and saddened.

“So you drink demon blood?” he prodded.

“Sometimes,” Sam responded vaguely. He really didn’t feel like discussing this with one of his slaves.

A shiver ran through Ivan’s small frame, and Sam smirked. Though he was growing exhausted, and he was sadly alive, this night was still excellent. Capturing a demon, getting more demon blood, having others fear him… Maybe this really was a good decision. Even now he felt much more in control.

“That’s, uh…”

“Disturbing, I know,” he supplied, already knowing how dark his true nature was.

“That’s definitely one word for it.”

He put his hands on Sam’s back and lifted himself up, twisting slightly, maybe so he could try and look at him.

“Hey, why is Lamazar not allowed to talk, but I am?”

The demon trailing behind him made a sound that showed she too wanted an answer to the question.

Sam nearly stumbled as his boot got caught on a boulder just jutting out of the ground he hadn’t seen, but he caught himself. It was embarrassing that he’d almost fallen, but after a pause in which he composed himself, he continued on.

“Simple,” he answered. “You’re not annoying.”

There was more to it than that. Even though he hated Ivan and just thinking of him set a fire in his stomach, he actually didn’t mind talking to him. He was interesting, and for now, he gave Sam something to focus on besides the regret that was trying to drag him back to the bunker and have him throw himself to his knees before Dean and beg for forgiveness. He told himself he didn’t need to go back, that he didn’t need forgiveness. That he was doing what was right for himself. So what if Dean didn’t like it, if Castiel didn’t like it? Besides, thinking back to an argument he’d had with Dean just around the same time all this crap with the amulet had started made him realize that Dean had wanted him to take care of himself. He knew this wasn’t what his older brother had meant, but he supposed it didn’t matter. So much had happened since then, and Sam just couldn’t go back from it. So he kept walking, one slave over his shoulder, and the other stumbling in her high heels behind him, the chain jangling as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

 

After Sam had left, Castiel stood there staring at the ring of holy fire in shock. In fact, he’d been there for a lot longer than he cared to admit. He’d failed. Sam was drinking demon blood again. Sam had left and he had no way of knowing where to. But there was one thing he did know for sure. Sam was gone. Not just physically, but the Sam he’d known. He _had_ given in. He was now set on the path to essentially become what Azazel and Lucifer had wanted him to be. And maybe because of the amulet he was even more than that. Castiel knew that darkness resided in his friend, that it’d always been there, but it’d been years since Sam had been pushed into having it take over. Over the past week or two he’d been pushed and maybe even dragged into letting out that dark part of himself. And Castiel hadn’t been able to do anything.

He knew that somehow he should go after Sam so he could at least tell Dean he’d done so, so he could try and lessen how much this would hurt him. But there wasn’t any way he could.

_Maybe he’s gone back to the bunker._

That did seem like a possibility, especially since Ivan was there. Maybe Dean could lock Sam up. Castiel despised the idea, knew what kind of traumas Sam had from being locked up, but at this point there wasn’t anything else they could possibly do.

So Castiel got himself moving. He had to tell Dean what had happened, and if Sam really was at the bunker, Dean might need help dealing with him.

It was easy deciding which car to abandon for now. Castiel knew how much the Impala meant to Dean, so after moving his Lincoln Continental out of the way, he got into the Impala and made his way home. It was strange driving the vehicle. Lonely. Whenever he was in it he was either in the back because Dean was driving and Sam was in the passenger seat, or he was sitting beside Dean as he drove. But now it was just him. And he’d failed.

 

Dean collapsed against a pillar when Castiel showed up alone. He hadn’t even gotten to explain what had happened. He’d opened his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes, and then Dean was on the floor, a hand over his mouth.

“I… I’m sorry,” he got out, his voice rough with emotion. “I tried my best. I did everything I could.”

In the wake of what had happened the words seemed pathetic, meaningless.

Cas expected his friend to lash out at him, to yell, but he just sat there, his wide eyes glistening with unshed tears speaking of defeat.

Castiel made his way over to Dean as the older Winchester asked, “What happened?”

“He… He’s drinking demon blood again. By the time I’d got there he’d already captured a demon, probably to have as a blood slave.”

Dean looked to him. “And there was nothing you could do? Why didn’t you attack him or something? Why didn’t you drag his ass back here?”

“Dean… I would’ve, but he planned ahead. As soon as I showed up he set a ring of holy fire around himself.”

His friend frowned. “How’d he get out of that?”

“The spell we asked him to find for rescuing Crowley. He used it.”

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured. “Son of a bitch!” With his last exclamation, he turned towards the pillar and slammed his fist against it. Another wordless shout left him and then he was hanging onto the pillar desperately, blood dripping down his knuckles.

“I should’ve locked him up, Cas. I should’ve… I should’ve _done_ something!”

Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder when he started sobbing, and squeezed reassuringly. He knew it probably didn’t offer a lot of comfort, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

“I t-tried, Cas,” he got out. “I tried so _hard_. A-and it wasn’t… wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t it _enough_?”

Castiel wanted to be strong for his friend, to tell him that sometimes bad things happened to good people, but he could feel his resolve crumbling. His throat ached and he started crying as well.

“I don’t know, Dean,” he answered honestly.

“I just-just want m-my brother back,” he admitted. “Curse that stupid amulet! C-curse Ivan! Curse _everything_!”

“I want him back too.”

Dean shook his head sadly, and gripped at the hand Castiel had on his shoulder. And in that moment Castiel knew that Dean didn’t blame him for what had happened, that he wasn’t mad at him. He was hurting, and Cas was hurting right along with him.

“Oh god, he’s gone,” Dean let out in a hoarse whisper. “My brother’s gone.”

Castiel didn’t have the strength to tell him they’d get him back. He didn’t even know if he’d be telling the truth. All he felt was crushing despair and hopelessness. Sam was gone, and maybe there was no getting him back this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how many of you remember, but Lamazar was actually mentioned way back in chapter 6.


	42. Devil's Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes up with a way to ensure that Lamazar doesn't smoke out.

It was later in the night when Sam had to take a break that a thought came to him. The handcuffs that he had on Lamazar weren’t good enough. Demons could be really resourceful and maybe she’d find some way to escape. What he needed was insurance that she wouldn’t smoke out. A few weeks ago the idea he had wouldn’t have even turned his stomach, and it did quite the opposite now. He was excited.

He’d chained Lamazar to the tree across from the one he was leaning against, and Ivan was sitting next to him on his right. Sam hadn’t told him to be quiet, but his slave hadn’t said a word for quite some time now.

Sam glanced at him, and then he grabbed the duffle bag to his left, the one with the weapons and supplies in it, and tossed it into his lap.

“Find a flashlight,” he ordered.

Ivan listened, starting to search through the bag as Sam stood, but he still questioned, “Why?”

Sam, with his gaze on Lamazar, answered, “There’s something I need to do.”

He still had her gagged, but the desperate look in her eyes told him she wanted to say something. He decided to be kind and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

“So now you let me talk,” she spat at him as he pulled her to her feet.

Sam ignored her, and commanded, “Turn around, face away from me.”

Lamazar just clenched her jaw and glared up at him.

He glared right back, and then he put his hand out, calling upon the darkness he felt inside of him. It was easy to use his powers again, like it was instinctive, something he’d never forgotten. Lamazar led out a pained cry and then against her will her back was to him. Without a thought, Sam quickly unchained her, and then started pulling her dress down, exposing her back. Just in case he wouldn’t be able to hold her with his powers, he chained her back up again. She was shivering, but since she was a demon, Sam knew it wasn’t from the cold.

“I’ve got the flashlight,” Ivan told him.

“Good. Turn it on and come here. I need you to hold it for me. I can’t mess up what I’m doing.”

“What _are_ you doing?” Ivan questioned tentatively as he flashed the light on, pushing away some of the darkness. 

He came over and now Sam could properly see Lamazar’s small form, and she’d pressed herself against the tree, probably hoping to get away from him as much as she could.

“Good question,” Lamazar commented.

Sam leaned down and took the demon-killing knife from his boot.

“Don’t worry,” he told her as he stepped closer. “You’ve dealt with pain before. Surely this’ll be nothing.”

“So you want to torture me?” she questioned incredulously.

“Something like that,” he answered, and then he pressed one hand against her back, making her tense. 

With the other hand, he ran the knife through her skin, being careful as to how he cut her. Sam was actually impressed when she didn’t scream – most people would – but he was also disappointed. Part of him really wanted to hear her agony.

The beam of the flashlight shuddered, and Sam threatened in a cold voice, “Ivan, if you drop that this knife’s going into you next.”

The light instantly stilled as his other slave seized up in fear.

He started by carving a star into Lamazar’s back, and thanks to his powers and the chain, she stayed still, but already this was straining him. It’d been years since he’d flexed this muscle. It was starting to hurt, and he could feel blood flowing from his nostrils down onto his upper lip. Lamazar didn’t start screaming until he started to carve a circle around the star, and thankfully, they were far enough away from the bunker that she wouldn’t be heard. No one in town would be able to hear her either. It was just the three of them who knew what was happening.

It was hard to keep going, to keep focusing on marking her with the Devil’s Trap. There was just so much blood running down her back, and his head was hurting, somewhere in his chest aching to just lap up all that he could. He groaned, a shiver running through him, but he kept going. When his vision started to blur he released his hold on his powers and fell against the tree, just barely able to hold himself off of Lamazar. Her blood was soaking into his shirt and he could feel her small frame against him, tense and terrified.

Quickly, Sam pushed himself away from her, before more of her blood got on him. His skin was tingling, his very soul seeming to pull at him, telling him to attack her, to have all of her blood. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He needed to keep her alive. If he drank her dry like he yearned to he’d just have to find another demon, and that was too much work when he could keep this one as a blood slave.

Sam wiped the blood from his face on his sleeve, and shook his head to clear it.

Lamazar had quieted now, and she was just whimpering. But then a breathy sound began to leave her and Sam realized she was laughing.

“Can’t keep it up,” she joked.

Sam snarled at her, and tried calling upon his powers again. Instantly, he collapsed to one knee, the headache that came over him nearly blinding him. An angry yell left him and he released his powers, letting the darkness settle in him for now.

“You’re pathetic,” she spat, turning her head to look back at him. “Absolutely pathetic. Greatest hunter in the world, my ass. You’re nothing but Azazel’s good little bitch. Even after he’s dead you’re still a slave to what he did to you.” She broke off laughing again. “You’re _exactly_ what he wanted you to be, what Lucifer wanted you to be.”

Sam was now really starting to regret taking the gag off of her, but it would take too much effort for him to put it back on. It was nearly too much effort to continue. He stood, pressing her firmly against the tree, and he tightened his grip on the knife. Her laugh turned into a strangled cry as he continued slicing a circle into her skin around the star, orange glowing from the freshest wounds. And then he started in on the symbols.

“So you don’t – _agh!_ – want to talk about the Devil, huh?”

He didn’t have to, but at her words he dug in the blade particularly deep, till he was sure it scraped at one of her ribs.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

“S-Sam,” Ivan started, voice quiet, “m-maybe she’s had enough.”

“No. She hasn’t.”

He pulled the blade free, and then was careful to carve out the right symbol. It was very different from spray-painting. That was something he was now adept at, and he was good with a knife, but this was still a challenge.

He didn’t say anything, and she started laughing again when the knife was no longer slicing through her.

“So that’s a touchy subject, huh, babe? We all know what he did to you. It was always the hottest gossip downstairs. A few demons even claimed they had gone low enough to hear your screams. No one believed them…” She trailed off, a grunt leaving her, when Sam began running the knife through her skin again. 

The other hand he had against her back was tense. He was resisting the urge to slam her against the tree, dig his nails into her, to just stab her until she was nothing but a bloody, dead, pathetic mess. He wanted her to shut up, didn’t like the way memories were now trying to surface, the way pain was trying to take hold of him. He thought now that he’d chosen the right path that he’d avoided that, but here his slave was, proving him wrong. But Sam couldn’t turn back. It was too late.

He had to keep going, so he said nothing as Lamazar started talking again: “No one but the true king was lucky enough to hear you. We… _shit!_ We were all really excited for you, thought you were really gonna be the savior. And then you fucked that up. But now you’re that _thing_ again, a monster. Oh, if only someone could get word to Lucifer. He’d want you so badly.”

Now Sam pulled the knife from her, and he did slam her against the tree, his hand now against the bleeding wounds in her skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t even scream.

“Sam, what’s she talking about?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing,” he snarled at him.

Lamazar laughed again. “Liar,” she spat.

Anger flaring through him, Sam dug his nails into the cuts, and she seized up. As he did so, he put the knife in his mouth, holding it in between his teeth, and he lapped at the red-stained metal without even thinking about it. He forced the gag back into her mouth, avoiding her teeth as she tried to bite him. And then she screamed at him, more out of frustration than anything. She’d gotten the upper hand for a few moments, but now that was gone. Sam had now taken her voice from her, and he was her master again. But that didn’t stop her from beginning to laugh once more, pleased that she’d poked at his scars.

Sam reluctantly took the bloodied knife from his mouth, resisted the urge to keep licking the metal, and finished carving the Devil’s Trap into her. He cleaned the knife off on his shirt when he finished, even though all he wanted to do was put it back in his mouth, but he was above that. He sheathed it, and then looked over Lamazar’s bloody and shuddering form. The darkness inside of him surged, till it nearly hurt, the dark, red liquid calling to him.

“Ivan, close your eyes,” he murmured. As he said it he made sure to put plenty of will into the amulet. He didn’t want his first slave to see this next part. “And don’t speak,” he added. It wouldn’t do for this to be interrupted by another voice.

He let a few seconds pass, a hungry groan falling from him, and then he leaned down, one hand against the tree, the other gripping Lamazar’s hip tightly, and he licked her back. A moan made its way past his lips from the succulent taste of her blood, from the heat of it, and he squeezed his eyes shut. As he ran his mouth higher, sucking at her, trying to get as much as possible, he felt adrenaline surge through him, and power that he was now growing familiar with. It felt good, felt _right_. The rest of the world fell away, and it was just him and Lamazar. Well, he was barely away of her. Barely noticed the way she tried to struggle against him, barely noticed the muffled cries that left her. He only noticed what was important. Her blood. There was so much of it, and Sam nearly wanted to scream in ecstasy when he dug his tongue into the wounds he’d inflicted. This was all too good to be true.

He was free, free to do as he wanted, free to have as much as he wanted, free to be himself. There was just this beautiful, red, bloody freedom. And he wanted more. It was as if there wasn’t enough, as if there’d never be enough. 

But he’d find a way to get more. He had to. Maybe Rowena could help him with that.

When Sam figured he’d had enough he pulled away, licking his lips contentedly.

“You can open your eyes now, Ivan,” he told him as he let go of Lamazar and got to his feet.

The demon didn’t fight him as he unchained her and pulled her dress over her, covering what he’d done to her back.

He took the flashlight from Ivan, and looked into his blue eyes, seeing the terror and the questions. Sam switched it off the flashlight. Darkness encompassed them.

After gathering up his things, he tossed Ivan carelessly over his shoulder, tugged on Lamazar’s chain, and set off again.

 

It was easy to steal a car when he got into town. Given the time of night there were no witnesses, and Sam was driving off with his slaves in a matter of minutes, relieved that he didn’t have to walk right now, relieved that he didn’t have to carry anything. He hadn’t eaten since before he’d gone to rescue Crowley, hadn’t slept, hadn’t rested. Though he was now close to being immortal, everything was wearing on him, exhausting him, and his injuries were begging to be tended to. His neck ached, and there was a phantom feeling of his own belt taut around his neck. But he ignored it and kept driving, heading towards Lincoln, Nebraska, towards Rowena, towards someone who wouldn’t hate him for what he’d become. And maybe, spending time with her, he’d learn to stop hating himself.

_I’m free,_ he told himself. _That’s what matters._

In time he knew he’d start to miss Dean and Castiel, but for now, he didn’t. All he could really think about was how he wanted even more blood, wanted it till it consumed him. And maybe one day it would. Maybe he’d have enough of it to turn into a demon, if that was even possible. Surely it could be.

Instead of wondering what that would be like, instead of wondering if he’d still hate himself then, Sam tried to focus on the road. Forward. He just had to keep moving forward. If he looked back he knew he’d break down, he’d fall apart, shatter. And then there’d be nothing left of him. Nothing that he would be proud of anyway, nothing that Dean would be proud of or would even want to look at. There was just forward.


	43. Wicked Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes to Rowena for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a rape mention in this chapter.

Rowena was roused from her sleep by persistent knocking on the door of her hotel room. She let out an irritated groan and glanced at the clock on her bedside table to check the time. 2:13. God, it was much too early for anyone to be up. Yet there was still that knocking on her door, and right now she was too tired to think that it could be important.

“Bloody hell!” she exclaimed. “Leave me alone. Can’t a girl get her beauty sleep?”

The knocking stopped.

_Thank god._

But then she heard someone speak, “Rowena, it’s me.”

And she definitely recognized that low voice. It was Sam. What the hell was he doing here? Rowena hadn’t expected him for at least another week. Something must’ve happened.

He kept talking as she turned on the lamp next to the bed, “Please let me in. I need your help.”

“Quit begging,” she teasingly called through the door as she looked around for her robe. “It’s unbecoming.”

Rowena smiled when she swore she heard a frustrated growl come from him. And then she heard something odd – or perhaps she’d imagined it… the rattling of a chain.

She couldn’t find her robe, but she supposed it didn’t matter anyway. It was just Sam, and she didn’t entirely mind the idea of him seeing her in the lacy, black nightgown she’d worn to bed. She knew Ivan would be with him, but she didn’t really care. He didn’t seem to matter that much to Sam, not in the way human beings tended to value each other, so he wouldn’t matter that much to her. Rowena stretched as she climbed out of bed, and then she went and opened the door, giving Sam a pleased smile.

Her expression fell as soon as she took in the sight of him. He was covered in blood. It was on his skin, some of it flecked as if it’d splattered on him from someone else, but a lot of it was probably his. There were multiple cuts on his face, and one on his left hand. His bloodied shirt was ripped in a few places, and she could see cuts there as well, like he’d been slashed with knives. His jaw and cheek were all bruised, and to top it off there was a nasty, reddish bump on his head. But that wasn’t the worst of it. What was worse were the black and purple bruises on his neck, and a sinking feeling in Rowena’s stomach told her that those bruises went all the way around. There were even bruises on his collarbone that went lower before disappearing under his clothes.

Usually she always had something snappy to say, but this made her jaw drop.

Sam gave her a grim smile and told her, “You should see the other guy.”

“What. The. Hell?”

Sam glanced around the hallway nervously, and then said, “You can ogle later. Please just let me in.”

Rowena crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You’re early.”

“Some things came up.”

Though she would appreciate a full explanation for why he’d shown up looking like he’d nearly been beaten to death, she stepped aside and opened the door wider to let him in, now noticing the chain he held in his right hand. He tugged on it as he came in.

“I’m guessing you have your slave with you,” she commented, pointedly eyeing the chain. It wasn’t like she’d expected Ivan to be on a chain, but maybe he’d been giving Sam some trouble.

Sam said nothing, and led in the person on the chain. And unless Ivan had somehow turned into a petite Asian woman, that was _definitely_ not Ivan. But Ivan was there. The small, blue-eyed, tousle haired man came in after them, limping heavily with every step.

Rowena quickly closed the door behind the odd trio, and then her anger decided to flare up. Sam just thought he could show up in the middle of the night and she’d help him? And he came with not just Ivan, but another slave as well? That hadn’t been part of their agreement.

She didn’t try to be polite anymore.

“Kindly tell me who that bitch is.”

The “bitch” in question, who Rowena now realized was gagged, made some sort of aggravated sound, but Rowena ignored it, her eyes on Sam. There’d been some sort of determination in his eyes, but now he lowered his head and said quietly, “M-my other slave.”

“I’m sorry, you’re _other_ slave? Are you collecting them now? Is that your new hobby?”

He clenched his jaw and glared at her. “Rowena, it’s more complicated than that.”

Rowena stepped forward and examined his other slave, and she reached out with her magic as well, wondering if she was human. She couldn’t see Sam just having a random human as a slave. It didn’t make sense. Surely she provided something for him.

There was a dark energy in the woman, and that’s _all_ there was. She was a demon.

“Really, Sam? A demon? What’s she for?”

“That’s not important.”

A vulgar idea came to Rowena, and though she knew what she had in mind wouldn’t be like Sam at all, she still felt the need to say it and tease him: “She’s your sex slave, isn’t she?”

Sam pulled his head back, appalled. “What? No, of course not!”

“You sure?” she asked, looking over his slave with a seductive smile. She was about an inch taller than her, her skin smooth and coppery. She was curvy too. Rowena wasn’t sure she’d be her type, but her cupid’s bow-shaped lips did have a nice appeal to them, along with her high cheekbones, and her large, slanted eyes. As she met those dark eyes they suddenly turned blood red, as if she was trying to intimidate her. Rowena wasn’t the least bit frightened, and commented, “She’s pretty enough.”

Sam suddenly came forward, raising his left hand as if he was ready to strike her, but Rowena didn’t dare step back. She saw his fingers start curling into a fist, but then he lowered his hand and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“Rowena, please. Not now.”

She bit her bottom lip, wanting to say something else to get on his nerves, but then she realized how tired he was. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was a little pale. He swayed where he stood, as if he was about to collapse.

She let a sigh, and gestured to one of the leather armchairs just behind him, across from the bed. “Have a seat.”

A relieved breath left him, and he sat down, and then he said, “Ivan, you can sit too.”

His slave sank down into the chair next to Sam’s and closed his eyes. In a few seconds Rowena could’ve sworn he was asleep. His other slave remained standing next to him, and she seemed unsure as to whether she wanted to glare at Rowena or Sam. But there was more than just anger in her. It was masking something – fear. What had Sam done that could put fear in a demon?

“So what happened?” Rowena asked.

Sam dropped the chain he held, the metal links rattling loudly before falling to the floor with a thump. The demon didn’t leave his side, though she did move a few inches away from him.

“Dean, Cas, and I, we saved Crowley.”

Rowena had wanted to help with that, but it did work better this way. Her son was saved and out of the way, and she hadn’t even had to do a thing. But now he might want to take back the throne, and she didn’t want that. Not that she wanted Vadrach on the throne. There was someone else she had in mind.

“And after… I… I did something I can’t go back from. That’s why I have Lamazar, my other slave. It’s why I’m here. Dean and Castiel, they’ll never forgive me.”

“What did you do?”

He shook his head, looking away from her. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a long story. I… I knew I’d be safe coming to you, ‘cause you’ve done dark and evil crap. You’re the last person who’d judge me.” Then Sam slowly lifted his eyes to hers, and there she saw vulnerability and pain and fear. “You won’t, right?”

“Of course not, Samuel.”

He clenched his jaw when she called him that, but otherwise he said nothing.

Usually Rowena wasn’t one for caring for people, but Sam really did look very beat up, and she wasn’t sure she could let him go to bed before she’d seen to his wounds.

“Now, come on, get up,” she ordered. “Go in the bathroom and take your shirt off.”

“I don’t need you to look after me,” he told her as he tried standing to presumably go over to the bed.

Immediately he almost fell, and Rowena rushed over, throwing one of his arms over her shoulders, and she braced him by putting a hand against his chest. Luckily he managed to get his balance back fairly quickly; he was heavy.

“Samuel, you’re going to get in that bathroom and let me help you, or else I’ll-”

“What, you’ll turn me into a frog?” he teased.

When Rowena looked up at him he had a faint smile on his face. And then he let her help him into the bathroom. He flicked the light on, and he set himself down on the toilet seat, letting out a groan of pain. Before she had to order him to do so, he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You know, this is really unlike you,” he commented as he shrugged the ruined garment off.

“Maybe I have a soft spot for scruffy, half-dead hunters, or maybe I just like you,” she told him as she picked his shirt up off the tiled floor, holding it between two fingers, and putting it in the trash.

She wasn’t entirely sure if that statement was true. She didn’t hate him, and he wasn’t always awful to be around. Though, she needed him, and he couldn’t do as she wished if he was barely holding on.

“Please tell me that wasn’t your only shirt,” she begged.

“I have a bag of clothes in the car.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably as Rowena set her eyes on him. At another time she would like to admire his bare skin, and the shape of his muscles, but now wasn’t that time, so she focused on his injuries. The cuts had mostly scabbed over, though she could see the one across his abdomen had been re-opened a few times. He was covered in bruises. They were all in dark colors across his torso and side, and from what she could see they were on his back as well. She figured most of the wounds were from the battle to retrieve Crowley, but the one on his neck certainly wasn’t.

As Rowena grabbed a towel from the counter and ran it under warm water she said, “I thought for sure you’d have some sort of protection against possession tattooed on yourself.”

While looking him over there had been a distinct lack of a tattoo, and she thought she’d once heard Dean mention that he had one. So where was Sam’s?

“I did. Once.”

“Hold out your arm.”

He did as she said, holding out his left arm which was closest to her, and she began running the wet towel over his skin, cleaning the blood off. She had to be forceful about it since the blood had most likely been there for a few hours. Sam winced, but didn’t pull his arm back.

“Why don’t you anymore?”

“That’s a story for another day,” he told her, his tone dark.

Now Rowena really was curious, but she didn’t question him further. For a while she just cleaned him up in silence, and at one point she’d had to get another towel because the one she’d been using had become soaked in blood. Sam grunted and pulled back from her when she started dabbing at the wound on his stomach, and he instinctively reached out and grabbed ahold of her wrist. His grip was so tight she’d surely have a bruise.

“Sam.”

A few seconds passed and he let go of her, leaning back to give her better access to the slash.

“This looks awful,” she commented, as she continued to clean the wound. 

Now that she could see it better and it wasn’t bleeding so much, except for oozing a bit, she could actually see _into_ him. Though Rowena had seen many terrible things in her long life, it turned her stomach. With anyone else they’d already be dead from that, but she figured the power he’d taken from Ivan ensured that he lived.

“Hurts like a bitch.”

She continued to clean him, but she slowly came to a stop when she felt his eyes on her. She looked to him, meeting his tired gaze.

“Why are you doing this, Rowena?” he asked.

Though she had her own reasons for this, reasons she could never tell him, there was another part of her that she didn’t understand, didn’t _want_ to understand, that helped lead to her doing this. It was a part of her she always tried to keep buried, but sometimes it came out. It was the part of her that hated distancing herself from people, that hated being alone, that just wanted someone. And maybe that someone could be Sam. He seemed to understand what it was like being alone, what it was like to have darkness inside. Maybe…

Rowena chased that thought away, and lowered her gaze.

“I’m not all bad,” she answered quietly.

“I never said you were.”

“But you’ve thought it. I know you have. Everyone does.” She turned away from him, and put the other towel in the sink. Now that she was done cleaning him up and could properly see his injuries she could get to healing him.

“That’s because that’s the part of you that you let the world see,” he explained. “You don’t let anyone get close enough to you to see otherwise. So yeah, we all think you’re evil.”

“And I’m guessing this _we_ you speak of, is you, Castiel, and Dean.”

“Crowley too.”

She turned to him and rested back against the counter. “But you know I’m not evil.”

He shrugged, then winced from the movement. “Not entirely, but, right now my own family might think I’m evil. They’re not wrong.”

She came forward, laying a hand against his chest, just above the amulet, without even thinking about it. “Samuel, you can tell me what you’ve done.”

He gasped at her touch, pulling back from her, and she also pulled her hand away, realizing her mistake.

“You won’t understand,” he responded.

“Fine, then tell me one thing.” He tilted his head back, their eyes meeting. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

Sam’s eyes teared up, and he closed them, making a tear slide down his cheek. He took in a shaky breath, his upper lip trembling, and then he clenched his jaw.

“Just heal me,” he told her in a cold tone, his words commanding.

Any closeness between them vanished, and Sam had closed himself off. So Rowena set to healing him, not thinking about what she did, especially when she got to the bruises around his neck. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him, wasn’t sure if she would grieve him if he died, but some small part of her hurt knowing he’d gotten to such a low point he’d tried to take his own life.

So Rowena healed him, only talking about their next steps as she did so. He admitted to knocking out the two receptionists at the front desk, and one guest who had seen him and had reached for his phone to call the police, so she’d have to take care of that, and would also have to make sure he’d be able to stay without an issue. It was a mess, but right now, Rowena didn’t have the energy to be mad about it. She could be mad later, and she knew she would be. There was a lot she’d have to do because of Sam, which was precisely why when they went to their next hotel he was going to help her. This man was just causing her extra work, but he was part of her plan. She needed him.

When she was done she went into bed, telling Sam to at least chain up the demon so she couldn’t assault them in their sleep. Sam soon joined her, on top of the covers, his back to her, and despite his large size he curled himself up in a way that made him seem smaller. It was strange having someone in bed with her that she wasn’t fooling around with, someone she knew would be there when she woke up. But after healing him, she was more than ready to fall asleep, so despite her confused emotions that were clamoring for attention just beneath the surface, she closed her eyes and let darkness take her.

 

Sam woke up much earlier than he’d intended to. Morning sunlight was streaming through the window to the right of the bed, and it would be nice, except for the fact that Rowena was standing beside him and yelling at him: “Why is your sex slave handcuffed to the bloody sink?!”

Sam yawned and rolled over onto his back, grumbling, “She’s not my sex slave.”

Rowena electing to call her that made him uncomfortable to the point of having his stomach twist into knots, especially since Sam knew firsthand what it was like to be someone’s bitch. But she didn’t know that about him, which was a relief. He’d hated the concerned looks he’d been getting from Castiel and Dean, hated that they knew he was unclean. When Rowena looked at him she just saw him, didn’t see what had been done to him. Still, he wished he could get her to stop calling Lamazar that, but unless he came clean about everything, she’d probably just continue.

“Why is she handcuffed to the sink?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present.

“It’s effective,” he answered after he stretched.

“Effective? I have to use the bloody toilet, and I can’t because your bitch is there staring at me.”

Sam fished out the key to the handcuffs from his pocket and slapped it into her hand.

“There. Now let me sleep.”

Rowena muttered something under her breath that sounded pretty rude, and Sam rolled over onto his stomach, planning on going back to sleep. There was some shuffling, and then Lamazar was shoved out into the bedroom, Rowena slamming the bathroom door shut behind her. 

The ordeal must have woken up Ivan because he asked, “Are you sure you shouldn’t tell Rowena why you have Lamazar? I can see that her taunts are making you unhappy.”

“Why do you care?” he called to him.

“I know you, a little anyway, and it makes me uncomfortable for her to suggest something so… crude about you.”

“It’s better than explaining what she’s really for.”

“Can I tell her?”

“No,” Sam ordered in a firm voice, sending the command through the amulet with hardly a thought.

Sam was still hurting. Rowena hadn’t been able to heal everything, just the knife wounds, the cuts to his face, and the bruises on his neck. She said with the state he was in, healing more than just those would be dangerous since she had used his own energy for the spells. So all the bruises remained, and he ached all over. Despite the pain, it wasn’t that difficult to fall back to sleep since he was still so exhausted from everything that had happened the day before. He was asleep again before Rowena even came out of the bathroom.

 

It was some time after noon when Sam woke up again. He was still exhausted, and he figured it was because of the healing spells Rowena had used on him, but he pushed that aside and sat up. Instantly, he eyed the room hurriedly, searching for his slaves, but there was just Rowena, sitting in a chair across from him in a midnight blue dress. His heart began to beat fast, and he clutched at the amulet.

“My slaves, where are they?” he asked, getting off the bed.

She’d done _something_ to them. She must’ve. Sam needed them. But they weren’t there. What could she have possibly done?

“Rowena, what did you do to them?”

She waved her hand at him. “Calm down. They’re in the room next door. It was getting cramped in here.”

Sam studied her face, looking for any tells that she was lying. He didn’t find any. A relieved breath left him and his hand fell away from the amulet. He sat back against the bed and ran a hand through his hair. That was when he realized that he still didn’t have a shirt on and his clothes were in the car he’d stolen. His skin crawled as he felt Rowena’s gaze on him, but her gaze wasn’t malicious, just curious. Besides, if she did try something he might be able to best her; he had power now.

_God, I’m being ridiculous._

Of course he was being ridiculous. Rowena wouldn’t… If there was even the slightest chance that she would Sam wouldn’t have gone to her. He was safe.

“Now that you’re up, we need to talk,” she told him. “I was thinking-”

He held out a hand, cutting her off. “First, you’re gonna get my clothes from the car I stole.”

Rowena crossed one leg over the other, crossing her arms as well. “Why can’t you do it?”

He gestured to himself. “Are you kidding? I don’t want anyone to see me.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ ” he echoed, his tone incredulous. “I’m not wearing a freakin’ shirt.”

“And? It’s not like you’re a woman with breasts to hide. Besides, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” She smirked as she continued to eye him. “You’re scrumptious.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at that, surprised that she’d said something so bold. Then again, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. This was Rowena he was dealing with. 

“Okay. Now you’re _definitely_ getting my clothes for me.”

She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

After telling her what car she’d be looking for, he went over to the bathroom to relieve himself. Once he’d washed his hands he looked at himself in the mirror. Though he knew there were no longer bruises on his neck, it was odd to not see them there. It was odd that he was even still alive. He stared at the reflection of the amulet. Sam didn’t want to be alive, but since he was, and since he wouldn’t be going anywhere unless someone found out how to kill an immortal, he couldn’t just run and hide from his family. He had to finish this.

Sam took a quick shower when Rowena came back with his clothes, and he felt much better when he was fully dressed.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked him once they were both sitting in the armchairs.

Sam hadn’t thought much about what to do now, but he knew a few things that had to be done. He had to finish taking Ivan’s power, and Vadrach had to be eliminated. But before he finished taking his slave’s power, he wanted to understand the amulet further, wanted to know it completely. Before, he’d been pushed into using it, and then he’d rushed ahead, frightened. But now, as long as he stayed ahead of Dean and Castiel, he had time to figure it out, and he was with the right person.

“Vadrach needs to be taken out,” he said.

“Agreed.”

“After that I don’t know what’ll happen, but… before we go after him, I think I need more power.”

“So then get Ivan in here.”

He shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He took hold of the amulet, studying it again. Ivan’s soul no longer glowed like it had, but it was still there, trapped. Would it always be like that? And if Ivan didn’t know who had made the amulet, then who had? And why? “I want to understand this,” he continued. “I want to know who made it and why they did.” He let it go, the metal lightly thumping against his chest. “Is there any way you can help me with that?”

“The spells will be complicated.”

“You can do complicated.”

Rowena grinned at him, and Sam began to smile as well. “Yes. I most certainly can.”


	44. Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel try to find Sam.

Dean didn’t sleep the night Sam left. After realizing that Sam had somehow gotten back into the bunker to sneak Ivan out he’d tried to piece together where he was going and why. Well, he knew why, but he wondered if his brother had a plan aside from getting away. Sam had always been a deep thinker who was fond of planning, so surely he’d had something in mind. Or maybe he didn’t. He’d been so unlike himself the past few days that Dean started to think his choice to leave had been irrational, one born out of pain and fear. Hell, he couldn’t even be mad at him. He had been after he’d finished crying, once he’d gotten over the initial shock of what Castiel had told him. He had been angry, angry with Sam for leaving him, for not trusting him, for not wanting to fix this together, for not believing in him. But, Dean realized, he wasn’t sure he’d earned that trust, that faith. 

He’d had it once, especially when he and Sam were kids, when Sam’s only real father figure to look up to was Dean. After all they’d been through, after the wrongs they’d committed to each other, maybe that trust and faith was gone for both of them. And Dean hadn’t realized it till that night. It hurt like nothing he ever remembered feeling. There was torture, physical pain, having his body ripped apart, all the agonies that Hell had introduced him to, but then there was the simple, unreputable fact that he and his brother no longer believed in each other. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. 

Nothing was supposed to be like that. And it hurt, a pain that seemed rooted in his chest, threatening to claim all he was if he pondered on it too much.

So he tried not to think about it. He tried to stick to the facts, to what had happened. Sam had been suicidal, and he’d failed at killing himself. So where did that leave him? If his will to live had died then it left him with nothing good to draw determination from. He had only his negative emotions left to him now, or he had when he’d made the decision to take on a blood slave. At one of his lowest moments, Sam had chosen what had seemed like the only path. So when he really thought about it Dean couldn’t be angry. He was just sad.

After checking the GPS on Sam’s phone, which yielded no results, Dean realized he had to stop and think before charging ahead. He wanted to go out there and bring his brother home, and each second that passed only strengthened the dread weighing down on his shoulders and knotting his stomach. But he’d be useless if he didn’t have information, if he didn’t have a plan. Sam was the one being reckless now, so Dean supposed it was his turn to be reasonable.

He tried searching Sam’s room for any clues, but it was still a mess. Seeing it like that was discomforting. His brother had always been neat, so seeing the way papers, books, and clothes were strewn around in a disordered jumble spoke of how distressed he must’ve been. The drawers of his desk and bureau were lying open, some of them bare. With nothing else to do Dean started cleaning. Castiel had offered to keep him company, and Dean knew his friend was hurting too, but he just wanted to be alone, so he’d asked him to look after Crowley. Hopefully that didn’t end with part of the bunker burning down. He suspected it wouldn’t. Castiel knew when to stay his hand and Crowley just seemed defeated. They’d be fine.

Dean had already checked the bunker’s garage before heading to Sam’s room, so he knew that Sam hadn’t taken the Impala or any of the other vehicles. That meant he must’ve walked into town and stolen a car. Since it was late he figured it’d take an hour or two before anyone reported a stolen vehicle. He’d listen to the police scanners then. As Dean was going through the papers on Sam’s desk, there was one that caught his eye, and was distinctly in his brother’s handwriting. It seemed like it’d been purposefully placed there rather than having been thrown about like everything else. So Dean picked it up.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to make sense of what he was seeing.

It was a suicide note.

His stomach clenched painfully and his knees instantly became weak, making him have to lean on the desk so he wouldn’t end up on the floor. He nearly did end up on the floor, and he knocked some papers off the desk in his hurry to balance himself.

Dean looked away from the note, forcing himself to take in a deep breath. His gaze went to the fan and the belt that lay beneath it, tears brimming in his eyes.

Then, he clenched his jaw and began to read.

 

_Dear Dean and Cas,_

_I want you to know that this was something I had to do. I know you’re hurting, but it’ll get better. I promise. I’d made too many mistakes recently, and there were too many things I couldn’t come back from. This isn’t just because of what you found out about me. It’s not just because of the amulet._

_I drank demon blood again._

_You see, that’s why I had to do this. I couldn’t let myself turn down a dark path again. I couldn’t let others suffer because of me._

_Not again._

_I couldn’t go on._

_I hope in time you’ll forgive me._

_-Sam_

 

Forgive him? Dean didn’t even know how to forgive him. It wasn’t just the amulet, it wasn’t just the demon blood. It was the fact that he’d nearly taken his life, that he’d left them. But to think that Sam had gotten to such a low point. To think that his brother…

Dean couldn’t finish the thought. He folded up the note, and, he wasn’t sure why, he put it in his pocket. The part about what they’d found out about him made him sick to his stomach. God, to think Sam had been through so much. Hell, Dean had had his fair share of crap too, but he almost thought Sam had it worse. But maybe that was just because he cared more about his little brother than he did about himself. It had always been that way.

He finished cleaning Sam’s room, taking care to look for any hints as to where he might’ve gone as he did so. But there was nothing. Despite his tumultuous state, his brother still knew how to cover his tracks.

Once he was done Dean found himself lying on his bed, unsure of what he was supposed to do, unsure of anything. Had he pushed Sam away? He had tried not to; he’d tried to be there for him. But he couldn’t help but think that he’d failed. That was the only explanation.

Castiel found him a half hour later, still lying there, still staring at the ceiling fan.

“Dean?” his friend questioned. “Is everything all right?”

Dean just glared at him.

“Right, that was a stupid question.”

They remained in silence for a bit, and then Dean dug the note out of his pocket, holding it up as he said, “I found this.”

Castiel came and took it from him, quickly reading it over.

“I can’t believe he thought we’d be okay without him,” Dean intoned. “I can’t… that stupid son of a bitch.” He abruptly sat up, searching his friend’s eyes. “What did we do wrong, Cas?”

A look of dread seemed to fall over Castiel’s face, and then of all things, he averted Dean’s gaze.

“Perhaps we’ve done many things wrong,” he answered solemnly. “But that doesn’t change what happened.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t, but… I want to do better in the future. I’m sick of this kind of crap happening to us, and it’s not just Sam who messes up. Hell, I messed up accepting the Mark without realizing what it was. I messed up when I sold my soul and went to Hell. And… And I hurt Sam when I helped Gadreel possess him. And you know, maybe this stuff keeps happening to us _because_ of us. We can’t leave well enough alone. We-we get arrogant, we think we can screw with stuff that’s bigger and nastier than us. But we can’t. The universe just keeps proving that we can’t, but we still gotta go and mess things up.”

Castiel sat down on the bed beside Dean, placing Sam’s suicide note on his bedside table. “Dean, you and Sam are many, _many_ things, but arrogant isn’t one of them. You do these things out of love, out of desperation. I’ve done terrible things for the very same reasons.”

“But that don’t make it right,” Dean argued. “We just… we need to _stop_. We need to get back to doing what’s right, to saving people.”

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder as he told him, “Then let’s start by saving Sam.”

 

Saving Sam. It was a great sentiment, but it wouldn’t be easy. Right now it even seemed impossible. Did Sam _want_ to be saved? Surely some part of him did. Or maybe he didn’t realize he needed saving. After all, this way, he had control of himself, or he thought he did. What he did have now was security, security that he couldn’t be hurt again. To him, Dean figured, the more power he had, the safer he felt. It was awful to think that this is what Sam needed to even feel remotely safe. Dean had known his brother was screwed up and damaged inside, but he hadn’t realized just how much. He wondered what would happen if he learned that even now he wasn’t untouchable. It would only be a matter of time before someone managed to hurt him again. That was just how their lives worked; no use pretending they’d get a break.

After a few hours of waiting around listening to the police scanners, someone _finally_ reported a missing vehicle. It was inconspicuous too, just the kind Sam would go for.

Once he knew what he was looking for he hit the traffic cams to see if he could find anything, and that proved fruitless. All he really knew was that Sam was heading northeast for some goddamn reason, but he lost him the farther away he got. The truth was, Kansas just didn’t have that many traffic cameras, so they weren’t very reliable sources of information.

He slammed his laptop shut in annoyance, knowing he’d have to wait hours before the vehicle was actually found. He figured by that time Sam would already have moved onto a different car, heading in a different direction. Maybe they’d only find him once he wanted to be found.

_No. Can’t think like that. We’ll find him._

“Cas, are you getting _anything_ from Sam?” Dean asked his friend who was sitting across from him at the map table in the war room. “Any prayers?” When he said _prayers_ he held up air quotes, knowing how loose the term actually was when it came to angels and their ability to sense them.

“He’s been quiet, has been for awhile now.”

Dean let out a frustrated growl and rested his head on the table. There was always Crowley. Maybe he could get in contact with some demons who were still loyal to him and they could hunt down Sam.

But there was the chance those demons would never come back. Sam would get them.

Still, Dean had to try.

“You listen in on angel radio,” Dean told Cas as he stood up, “I’m gonna go see if Crowley has anything to offer up.”

“I’m not sure Sam would be big on the angels’ priorities,” Cas explained.

“Yeah? Well he should be. He’s dangerous, and last I checked, they don’t have much else going on.”

“They’ve been trying to come up with plans for finding Vadrach.”

Dean snorted. “They work slow.”

He left before Castiel could respond, not really caring to hear what else the angels might be up to. The way he saw it, with Sam drinking demon blood again, he was important enough to be on their radar. And yeah, maybe it was desperate to think that the winged dicks could find his brother before he could, but right now he needed options.

Crowley was still in the guest bedroom Castiel had brought him to, and it looked like he hadn’t moved since then. He was curled up, his back to him.

“I already told you, Feathers,” Crowley got out, “I have no inclination to get out of this damn bed.”

“That’s too bad,” Dean said, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms, “‘cause we gotta find Sam.”

For a second Crowley turned to glance back at Dean, seeing if it really was him, and then he went back to staring at the wall.

“Moose can go screw himself. I don’t care.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “That’s a first. Usually you’re eager get involved in anything to do with Sam, which, quite frankly, just gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“He’s on my bucket list,” he explained simply.

Dean shook his head, trying to not put together what Crowley meant.

“Don’t tell me what that means.”

“I don’t care much now though.”

“Fine, then what do you care about? Alcohol? Women? I’m sure I can get you either if that’s what you really want.”

Dean’s mind was right around there right now as well. But he couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Crowley sighed.

“Okay, what the hell is this about? I’m not about to play therapist to a demon, but this isn’t like you. Where’s your attitude? Where’s you friggin’ will to come out on top? Don’t tell me wimpy little Vadrach took that from you.”

Another sigh.

“Oh my god, he did. You know what? That’s just…” Dean paused, trying to find the right word. His eyes were wide with disbelief as he looked at the defeated figure in front of him, the broken and former king. Who knew they’d ever get to that point? He’d been comfortable having Crowley as a sometimes-enemy, comfortable with his position on the throne. And now they had this disaster. “Pathetic,” he finally spat out, the word coming to him amongst his strange sense of shock. “It’s pathetic that you’re letting some nobody get to you like this. Sure, he tortured you. Big deal. Get over it.”

“It’s not the torture,” Crowley murmured, and Dean barely heard him.

He stepped forward. “I’m sorry. What?”

In an instant Crowley was sitting up and facing him. “It’s not the bloody torture!” he yelled. “It’s the fact that I lost my throne to a demon who barely made the payroll! _I_ was that demon once! I scraped and I clawed to become the King of the Crossroads, but even then I didn’t have any respect. No, it had to be given to me by someone who couldn’t even give a damn, by someone higher up! And then it was taken from me, like it never mattered! Like none of it did. I’m… I’m nothing, Dean. I’m nothing! I’m utterly pathetic and powerless and _weak_ , so if you want help finding Samantha then go ask. Someone. Else!”

“Well I’m not asking someone else. I’m asking you,” Dean told him sternly, taking another step towards him.

“ _You_ and your damned brother are part of the reason I lost the throne!” Crowley snarled. “You’re part of the reason I’m hated, so you know what? Sammy boy can chug all the demon blood he wants. I. Don’t. Care.”

“So that’s it? We save you, and this is how you act?”

“News flash, Buster Brown! I didn’t ask for you to save me.”

“Yeah, well, we did. ‘Cause at the end of the day, we couldn’t let someone who’s helped us suffer, and we certainly couldn’t sit back with our thumbs up our asses while some demon we don’t even friggin’ know is ruling Hell. So maybe you didn’t want to be saved, but tough, you’re here now. And maybe you are weak. But who cares? I don’t! I don’t care that you think you’re some loser. You know what you should do instead of wallowing in it? Huh? You should get out of the damn bed and do something about it!”

“What?” Crowley asked, his face falling. He shrugged. “What am I _supposed_ to do? Apparently you have all the answers.”

“Maybe you can start by helping us find Sam.”

“Hmm… Let me think about it. No.”

Dean let out a frustrated yell, and clenched his fists. God, he just wanted to punch his face in. But he could see he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him.

“Fine. Go back to moping.”

With those final words he slammed the door and left Crowley to his sorrows. So much for thinking he might want to help. He had plenty of times in the past, but his time with Vadrach had affected him more than Dean had previously realized.

Dean was muttering under his breath about Crowley and “stupid demons”, and throwing about colorful insults, when Castiel ran into him in the hallway, looking like he was in a hurry.

“The police found the car,” Cas informed him. “It’s in Lincoln, Nebraska.”

Dean was ashamed that it took him a few seconds to get his brain on the right track, but he felt so heated from his pointless argument with Crowley.

“That’s only a few hours from here. Come on, let’s go.”

Castiel looked around Dean, to the section of hallway that led to the room Crowley was staying in.

“Maybe one of us should stay here. I don’t think it’s wise to leave him alone with access to powerful artifacts and lore.”

“Trust me, he’s not interested in any of that. Besides, I know neither of us feels like being the demon babysitter.”

“Maybe not, but what if he’s putting on an act?”

“What?”

“Demons lie all the time,” Cas reasoned. “Maybe this is so he can get access to our information.”

Dean let out another frustrated growl. His friend had a point.

“I’ll go,” Cas offered. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“But-”

He put both hands on his shoulders and Dean directed his gaze to look into his eyes.

“Please. Let me do this for you. Let me do this for Sam.”

There was an emotion on Castiel’s face that he couldn’t make sense of. Well, he could, but he didn’t know why he’d be feeling guilty. Was he trying to take the blame for Sam leaving? It didn’t add up. But he looked so desperate and pleading, so despite the urge to go chasing after his brother as fast as he could, Dean conceded. Besides, Castiel probably had the clearer head at the moment. He trusted that his friend would do all he could.

Dean nodded, giving one of Castiel’s forearms a squeeze.

“Go.”

Castiel returned the nod, tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulders for just a second, and then he was off, off to hopefully find Sam. But Dean didn’t have much hope where that was concerned. All Cas would find was where he had been, nothing more. Still, they had to try. They just had to.


	45. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to a bar to get drunk, and while there he meets someone very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a slightly graphic description from Dean's point of view of Sam's attempted suicide, there are some non-con themes, and there's also torture.

Dean wondered if it was too early to start drinking. It’d been hours since Castiel had left and he still hadn’t heard anything from him. He’d let him take one of the cars the Men of Letters had left in the garage, and Dean tried to tell himself that that was why he was bummed he hadn’t gone with him. He’d never taken any of the cars out for a test drive, was way too loyal to Baby to do that. Just the thought of driving a different car was weird.

He found himself in the garage, sitting on the hood of the Impala, holding the keys.

Would it be okay to leave Crowley alone? He knew Castiel didn’t want him to, but the demon didn’t seem like he’d be up to anything. Sure, he could be tricking him, but he doubted it. He knew Crowley. He really was defeated.

He wasn’t even interested in Sam anymore.

And Sam was in the wind.

_What time is it?_

He checked his watch, which read 1:56 PM.

Yeah, he could start drinking. There was a bar he knew would be open. He knew he kind of looked like crap from the cuts and bruises on his face, but he probably looked too intimidating for people to ask questions.

But what if Castiel called and he needed him?

 _He probably won’t,_ Dean told himself. _He won’t find Sam._

Still, just to take the edge off the guilt he felt, he dug his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the stinging in his hand as he did so, and called him.

“Hey, Cas, you got anything yet?”

“I found the car. Sam ditched it. I checked out the hotel it was at. There’s no record of Sam checking in, but I’m sure he was here. I just haven’t gotten a chance to look at the security cameras yet.” There was a pause before he went on, “I still don’t get _why_ he even went to such a place. This isn’t like him.”

“None of this is like him,” Dean argued.

“Well, apparently it is.”

He sighed, rubbing his good hand over his face. “Look, don’t bother figuring out why, he’s probably trying to throw us off - just find out where.”

“But maybe if we knew what his motivations were-”

“We do know his motivations,” Dean argued. “He’s scared and wants power. That’s it. He’s not thinking clearly.”

“What would you do?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know, maybe if I was with you I could figure it out,” he snapped.

Castiel let out a sigh that let Dean know he was rolling his eyes. There was a pause, and Dean started expecting his friend to say something rude back, but instead, he told him in a gentle voice, “Dean, I didn’t want to bring you on this one ‘cause I didn’t have much hope. I didn’t want to have to drag you through all that.”

He knew his friend was being sincere, knew that maybe he should take the time to be understanding, but he still really wanted to punch something, or maybe just curl up in a ball, all keyed up with tension, wishing his brother would come back. So he spoke, knowing his tone showed exactly how he was feeling, “So it’s better for me to sit here on my ass? It’s not working for me, man. I have to do something. It’s my fault Sammy’s out there with his two freakin’ slaves and those damn bruises around his neck. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

“Because it’s not your fault, Dean.”

He let out a cynical laugh. “Sure.”

“It’s mine.”

“Look, Cas, I know you feel that way-”

“I feel that way because it’s true,” he told him, his voice raised. “It’s _my. Fault._ ”

Oh god, Cas was being serious. Dean licked his lips before asking tentatively, “What do you mean?”

“I have to go.”

“Cas, what do you-”

Before he could finish his question, the angel hung up. Dean pulled his phone away from his ear and was stuck staring at it, wondering what the hell he meant by that. Maybe he was doing the same thing Dean was and blaming himself for everything. Or maybe something had happened that he didn’t know about.

_It’s probably nothing, right?_

Or maybe it’s not.

“Damn it, Cas!”

Now was definitely a good time to get drunk.

 

Dean went to his usual place in town to drink, the one with the cute bartender. He never worked the earlier shifts though, and besides, he wasn’t in the mood to flirt. He just wanted to numb everything he was feeling for a bit. There were a few other patrons in the quiet bar. It was a weekday, so they were younger folk, maybe people who had taken the day off or gotten off work early, or maybe didn’t even have a job.

Not in the mood for having to get up over and over again to get refills on his beer or whiskey or whatever the hell he ended up drinking, Dean took a seat at the bar. He noticed that there was a black woman over at the other end, and she was pretty. But Dean wasn’t there to get into bed with anyone, or at least he didn’t think so. After a couple drinks maybe that would change, and he was okay with that. But damn, did the jeans she was wearing make her thighs look good. 

He decided to keep to himself for now and ordered a whiskey, neat; it wouldn’t do to have the ice watering it down.

As he drank he started wondering what the hell his life had turned into. Sure, his life had been crazy when he’d been a demon and when he’d had the Mark of Cain changing him and threatening to turn him into a monster. And now he supposed it was Sam’s turn to be the monster. But Sam had saved him before, even when he was past wanting it. Could he do the same for his brother?

Sam’s situation was very different than what his own had been. The Mark of Cain had been poison, tainting him, turning him dark, and while Sam had the amulet, which seemed to be doing a similar thing, Dean knew it was more than that. He knew it was all the messed up crap he’d been through, it was what he’d accidently let them know, it was the damn demon blood.

Just thinking about his brother drinking demon blood again made him tighten his grip on his glass, and rather than try breaking it like he really wanted to, he drained it and asked for a refill. He wasn’t even sure how much he’d had to drink at this point, but based on the bartender’s pitying look he must’ve had a lot. Or maybe it wasn’t a pitying look. Maybe he just saw it that way ‘cause he was ashamed. It was hard to tell now. He could feel the numbness and buzzing of alcohol in his system, could feel the burn in his throat, but he could still feel everything else. He still _hurt_.

His thoughts seemed to be slowing at least, but he was still picturing Sam hanging from the ceiling, his belt wrapped around his neck, and he saw him covered in blood, his own, and demon blood. He saw him drinking it from bodies that he couldn’t put faces to. It was making him sick. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

At one point when Dean was staring down into his glass, hating himself, hating that he was still conscious, that he could still make sense of his emotions, a delightfully low feminine voice said to him with an accent that he was too drunk to pinpoint at the moment, “Maybe you should take it easy.”

He turned to her, and it was like she wasn’t as physically there as a person should be, like she was about to break into a second image of herself. It was probably the alcohol. Even if his vision seemed to be threatening to double, she was gorgeous, with prominent lips, a strong nose, and cheeks that he wanted to caress. Her curly hair that fell about her shoulders looked all fun and bouncy. Then he remembered it was the woman who he’d taken note of earlier. Facing her was giving him an even better view than a quick once over. She was wearing a bright yellow shirt that looked gorgeous against her skin and was low-cut in a way that seemed teasing to him, like he was seeing just enough to be interested. Not wanting to be rude, he quickly drew his attention back to her face, and saw that her eyes were a lovely dark brown that made him think of coffee, bitter and strong and divine.

“Why? You worried about me?” he asked, trying to force a bit of a smile onto his face.

Maybe she could help cheer him up. Besides, she had approached him. He knew he was good looking, maybe even with his injuries, so it wasn’t surprising, really. If drinking wasn’t helping as much as he needed then pleasure seemed like as good a way to go as any.

“I just don’t want such an attractive man losing his senses. Anyone could take advantage of him.”

“Oh, really?”

Though he was buzzed, Dean was pretty sure that had been her flirting with him and not a threat. She was too pretty to be a threat. Besides, Lebanon was usually quiet as far as supernatural events went. There just weren’t monsters around here; he and Sam had made sure of that.

Thinking of Sam made heat flash through him and he couldn’t tell if it was anger or just some form of distress. He let himself remain confused for now, and dragged his mind back to the woman in front of him.

She leaned closer, asking, “Would it be crude of me to suggest that we get out of here? Maybe go to your place?”

 _That was_ fast _._

He grinned. “Of course not. But can I at least know your name first?”

“Asha,” she supplied.

He grabbed her hand, glad he didn’t have a hard time locating it, and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. Her skin was pleasantly warm.

“I’m Dean.”

Something flashed in her eyes, maybe excitement, but he didn’t care much. He just wanted to drown himself in something, and alcohol hadn’t worked, so why not turn to a beautiful woman who was offering?

 

Dean didn’t remember how he got back to the bunker, and at the moment he didn’t care that someone he’d just met was in the bunker. She was harmless, just a bit of fun. He even showed her around, trying to impress her, but that ended with him sitting on the kitchen table and Asha straddling him. He couldn’t remember how that had happened. Had she pushed him down? Had he grabbed her? It didn’t really matter because she was kissing him, and telling him what she wanted to do to him in between each touch of their lips, and he thought she had some great ideas.

So they ended up in his bedroom, and if not for her, Dean would’ve had issues getting out of his clothes. He was a little too drunk and a little too excited, and his left arm throbbed a bit. He tried undressing her as well, but he only got her shirt off before she pushed him down onto the bed. As she leaned over, sensually kissing her way down his body, Dean forgot all about Sam.

 

It felt like a hammer was pounding away at Dean’s skull, and he instantly regretted all he’d had to drink. He wondered what time it was, if it was the middle of the night, or the next day. Was Asha still even there? Where was he?

He slowly opened his eyes, already hating the way it hurt when light flooded his vision. Had he left the light on?

Dean couldn’t figure all these things out, and he tried to roll onto his side, ignoring it all and going back to sleep. But he could hardly move. There was something tugging at his wrists and ankles, something that scraped at his skin uncomfortably. It was rope. Then he felt a body on top of his naked one, one that he easily recognized given how much she’d been on top of him earlier, her hips moving fiercely. A sleepy smile alit his face at the memory. Still waking up, Dean couldn’t quite come to his senses just yet, and when he saw that Asha - now clothed - was holding a knife, he questioned, “Are we playing another sexy game?” While that did sound fun, he didn’t think he could go another round just now. He couldn’t even remember how many times they’d gone last night. Two? His injuries were throbbing dully from it. “I’m a little beat right now. Maybe later.”

“I’m done with games,” she told him clearly, and much too loudly.

He winced.

He nearly told her to quiet down, and then he realized what she’d said, and he realized the cold blade of the knife was trailing against his bare chest. Any exhaustion seemed to leave Dean as adrenaline kicked in. He was in danger.

“Where’s Sam?” she asked.

Dean looked up at her, and this time as he did so he was no longer doing it to admire her body. Though in his head he could still remember seeing her naked, she seemed very different from the person she’d been earlier. She was all business now even though she was straddling him.

He searched through his memories, or what was there. Had he mentioned Sam?

“I didn’t… I didn’t tell you about my brother.”

She pressed the knife against his throat, and his pulse thrummed against the cold metal with fear. He tried telling himself that she hadn’t used the knife before, so she most likely wouldn’t use it now. But before she had wanted to get in bed with him, and now she had other plans. He could see it in her eyes. She wanted to hurt him.

“I know. Where is he?”

“What are you?” Dean asked, ignoring her question.

As an answer, Asha’s eyes turned completely black, the light reflecting off of them and glinting at him cruelly. She smiled at him.

“Am I still sexy like this?” she asked him.

Dean swallowed roughly, realizing the seriousness of the situation he was in. Maybe he could call for Crowley, but he wasn’t sure the former king would even help him. Besides, if he did cry out for help, he might receive some form of punishment. And what if Asha was working with Crowley? She’d surely searched the bunker and he didn’t see Crowley tied up anywhere or getting questioned. It was just him. Maybe he was hiding. He was depressed, but he was still smart, and he didn’t seem like he’d want to put himself in the way of danger, and probably wouldn’t do so even to save him.

 _Coward,_ Dean thought.

He stopped thinking of Crowley as Asha dragged the knife across his skin to the bandage on his right forearm, which she slipped the edge of the blade under before beginning to cut at it. He tilted his head to watch as his bandage fell away, exposing the cut that was already there from the battle to rescue Crowley, the wound not fully healed. It probably needed stitches, but so much had been going on that he hadn’t found the time to take care of it properly.

“So, where’s Sam?” she questioned again, the knife going dangerously close to his wound.

“Not here,” he answered honestly.

Metal entered his wound and he twisted his head away, wincing, clenching his jaw to hold in a groan.

“I _know_ that,” she told him.

“That’s about all I know, too,” Dean groaned out as she dug the blade deeper. “Why do you want him anyway?”

“Not just him. I want you, too. But getting you was too easy, wasn’t it? All I had to do was tell you all my _ideas_ about what to do to that wonderful body of yours and you were begging for it. Poor Dean...” she taunted, giving him a pout. She ran her fingers over the green and blue bruises on his left elbow, and then she pressed down on them, squeezing. “So desperate for anything good in his life.”

Dean groaned at the ache that flooded his arm, and the blade seemed to dig deeper into his other one. His breathing grew heavy, but he still managed to say, “Wow… I just love… being talked about in the third person.” That was what he had to focus on. He didn’t want to think about all the words that had left Asha’s mouth and made him feel pathetic.

Asha removed the blade from his arm, but then took it to his face, reopening the cuts he had there. The burning of it had his whole body tensing beneath her, and he was breaking out in a sweat. He had tried to keep quiet, but by the time she got to the one on his lip that went down to his chin he was growling at her so that a high-pitched whine wouldn’t leave him instead.

She set the blade down on the pillow next to his head, and leaned over him, grabbing hold of his right hand to dig her thumb into the cut on his palm, making him tilt his head back and close his eyes, the pain too much to bear at the moment. Sure, he’d put up with worse, but usually before he’d had time to prepare himself for it. This had come out of the blue. His fun night had turned into this, and he felt like an absolute idiot.

He wanted Castiel to come back and save him. He wanted his friend, but he didn’t want him to see him like this. He didn’t want to be the one who had let a demon into the bunker because she was pretty. Why did he have to be so damn stupid?!

“Hmm… You’re even louder now than you were last night,” she commented, and then she leaned down, her lips brushing his. 

Dean flinched back, but since he was tied to the bed, there was nowhere to go. She pulled away, licking his blood from her lips.

He wanted to wipe his mouth, wanted her off of him, just wanted to stop hurting. But he couldn’t. She wanted information, information that he didn’t have. And even if he did have it he wouldn’t give it to her.

“You don’t need to do this,” he gasped out. He meant to continue speaking, but a shout left him as she dug her thumb into his palm even more, and he felt hot blood trickling from it to coat the bandage, and it was getting on his skin as well.

“Oh, are you going to tell me where Sam is then?”

“I don’t _know_ where he is!” Dean shouted out. “Okay? I don’t know!”

He wished he knew. He wished his brother hadn’t run off. He wished he hadn’t started drinking demon blood again. He wished he hadn’t picked up that damn amulet. He wished he’d never been touched in a way he hadn’t wanted. He wished that nothing bad had ever happened to him. It wasn’t supposed to happen to him. Dean was supposed to keep him safe. And he’d failed him. He’d failed.

His throat ached, and tears stung at the corners of his eyes. He turned his head away from Asha as one trailed down into his hair, his bottom lip trembling.

She laughed, a sound that set Dean on edge. If it didn’t have that cruel note to it, it was probably something he would’ve enjoyed hearing last night. Now his memories of her the night before were turning sour, and he was angry, a fire burning away in his chest. She’d used him. That thought made his skin crawl, but he tried to ignore it, tried to give into the heat of rage. There was just too much going on in Dean’s head, and he thought getting drunk again was probably too much to ask for, but dear lord, did he want that numbness it would give him. He just wanted to be numb.

“Don’t think I’ll buy this act of yours. He’s your brother. You two are inseparable.”

Now Dean was the one laughing, and it was void of emotion.

“You’re wrong there,” he said. “He’s gone. He left. Does none of that make any sense to you?”

Asha just blinked at him as if she wasn’t buying it.

He sighed and closed his eyes, letting more tears fall. “Do whatever the hell you want to me. You’ll never find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to joke that the torture scene is to get back at Dean for dragging out the plot, ‘cause my god, is he dragging out the plot. I would like to get back to Sam in the next chapter just to leave you all with that cliffhanger ‘cause I’m mean like that, but what’s going on with Sam is going to take awhile too probably. I swear the end is in sight.
> 
> Also, I haven’t been writing much ‘cause college! Yay! And as usual I had other stuff going on in my life. April was a _really_ tough month for me. It’s not easy writing when you keep nearly having mental breakdowns from therapy and when you know finals are coming up in a month and then you’re gonna move again. Yeah, my life likes being messy, but hopefully I’ll be able to write more in the next few months. For those of you who have stuck around, I love you.


	46. The Hate Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam continues his plan of getting away, and Dean undergoes further torture at Asha's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains torture.
> 
> Also, I finally figured out how to put pictures on here, so if you want to check out the cover that I've had made for this story for awhile, you can go back to chapter one and check it out. I hope you guys like it!

There are also some songs I like that really make me think of this story. The first two were actually pointed out by my sister. I was listening to the songs when they said they made them think of my story, and I paid more attention, and yep, they do. So here are the links so you guys can give them a listen to if you want!

  * ["Rival" by Ruelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o87vay63FZ0)
  * ["Ready Set Let's Go" by Sam Tinnesz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCRiErm1GVw)
  * ["Deep End" by Ruelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvlDjqdwc2Y)



* * *

“You _seriously_ expect me to get into _that_?” Rowena asked, appalled, as Sam carried his stuff over to a beat up Volkswagen Jetta, his slaves in tow.

Sam had specifically chosen the car because it looked to be an early 2000s model, the design inconspicuous, and he didn’t think Dean and Castiel would be looking for him in a car that was a hideous eggshell color. Lamazar still had the gag on, but based on the frown she gave the vehicle, she didn’t seem too happy either. She was still handcuffed as well and Rowena currently held her chain. Luckily the parking lot wasn’t too crowded. Besides, Rowena had used a spell to make it so that anyone who looked their way wouldn’t look too hard and their eyes would just graze right over them, not taking what they saw into account. It was definitely handy. Ivan surprisingly said nothing, but he didn’t seem to find a problem with the car. Sam wasn’t surprised. After all, when he wasn’t busy bleeding out or trying to kill him he often glanced at modern objects with a glint of awe in his eyes.

Sam set his bags down and started searching for the tool he needed to break into the car. Once he found it - a slim strip of metal with a hooked end - he slid it beneath the window to the locking mechanism, and began jiggling it around.

“It’s just a damn car,” Sam told her.

“So? It’s hideous!”

The car unlocked, and Sam let out a pleased grunt, putting the tool back in his bag. He opened the door and leaned down to start hot-wiring it.

“That’s kind of the point,” he explained. “There are tons of other cars like this one, probably all driven by middle-aged soccer moms who have a hard time making ends meet. It’s the last thing Dean and Cas would expect.”

Rowena let out a huff. “Fine. I’ll allow myself to be driven around in it. But just this once. I’m a three hundred year old witch, and I generally expect better treatment than this.” Knowing Rowena’s tastes, he knew this was probably not easy for her, but Sam didn’t care much, and he just rolled his eyes. Comfort wasn’t one of his priorities. Getting away was. He heard rattling and a clink as Rowena tugged on Lamazar’s chain. “Come on, bitch. In the back you go.”

Sam didn’t bother telling her to not call her that even though he didn’t particularly like it. He didn’t want Rowena to know it bothered him. Besides, if she knew, she’d probably feel more inclined to keep on doing it. They were working together now, and she was helping him, though he still couldn’t entirely figure out why, but he knew how much she enjoyed getting underneath his skin.

“Ivan, you’ll be in the backseat with Lamazar,” Sam instructed as the engine rumbled to life. “Get in.”

 

Asha still studied Dean, her thumb pressing agonizingly against the wound in his palm. Her eyes went back to the brown he’d found so intriguing before.

“I _will_ find Sam,” she assured him.

“Great, maybe you can help me look for him,” Dean spat.

Asha let go of him and grabbed the knife again. She ran it across his collarbone teasingly, and then pain flared to life in him as she brought it down, across his sternum and then it curved lower to his right side, to the top of his hip. He screamed from this new agony, feeling like he was being torn apart, fire digging into him and eating at his nerves. Blood welled up on his skin and before long it was seeping into the sheets.

Through the blinding pain, Dean’s only coherent thought at the moment was that at least he’d been planning on cleaning them anyway.

“Where is he?” she asked calmly as she lowered herself onto his thighs, so she could drag the bloodied knife across his pelvis.

Dean’s stomach turned, hating what part of him the knife was close to, and he tensed, wishing he could get away. The tensing of his muscles pulled at his wounds and he groaned. Even though it was hopeless he started yanking at the coarse rope that secured his wrists and ankles. He pulled till it burned, till his skin was surely red, and then past that, till he was bleeding and the rope felt like thorns embedded in his skin, holding him down. Dean let out a shout before giving up, and he looked past Asha, up at the ceiling, sweating and bleeding, and gasping for breath.

“If you don’t say something I’ll go even lower,” she warned, digging the knife into the top of his pelvis.

He gritted his teeth, but his voice still made it past them in an animal-like cry, the sound welling up from his chest.

_Have to say something. Have to say something._

Dean tried to even his breathing, and then he finally looked at her, giving her the best smile he could muster at the moment, even when it pulled at the cut in his lip.

“Aw, come on, I thought you liked that part of me. What if you wanted to go for a little joy ride in the future? It would be a shame if you couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said to him, “I’ll make sure it’s still functional. But I’m sure other girls won’t like the scarring.”

Dean looked down, panicked, his heart racing.

“Come on!” he shouted, as he also thought, _This isn’t fair!_ “I said something! Like you wanted!”

“It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I want Sam’s location. You have one last chance to give it to me.”

“Maybe check Hell,” he nearly shouted at her, his desperation bleeding through his words. “I know it’s nice this time of year.”

Pain overtook Dean, pain like he’d only ever experienced in Hell because only demons were sick enough to do this to him. And he was sorely reminded now that it was a demon he was dealing with. He thought he could hear her laughing as he screamed. He turned his head to the side, feeling like he was going to throw up, his stomach hurting and twisting on itself. In Hell when this had been done to him there’d only been dry heaving till blood came up since there was nothing in his stomach, but sadly, on Earth he’d have to deal with vomit.

_Where the fuck is Crowley?_

No, Crowley wasn’t going to save him, and Dean didn’t know how to save himself. Not from this, not from the shit show his life had become. But maybe he didn’t deserve saving. He hadn’t protected Sam.

God damn it, he wanted Cas. He wanted his best friend to swoop in and save him. He just wanted him with him even if he couldn’t help somehow; to maybe just grip his shoulder in that reassuring and comforting way he did, to help him get through this.

No new agonies were delivered to him for a few seconds, and he managed to get himself to stop screaming, but now he was crying, and hot blood was getting on his thighs.

Asha leaned over, grabbing his face and turning her to him. His heart beat faster at that and he fought her, wanting his head to still be to the side in case he did puke; he didn’t want to choke on it. He was quivering all over as if he was about to.

“Is that kinky enough for you, Dean?”

“ _Fuck… off_ ,” he got out, spit leaving his mouth with the words, some of it running down his chin.

“No?” she questioned, her tone teasing, something that terrified Dean.

“Maybe just one more slice then.”

“No, no!” Dean shouted. “No!”

The knife was under his chin again and he grimaced, knowing where the blood was from.

“Then give me the information I want.”

“Why don’t you… go... fuck yourself?” Dean got out.

His words were soon followed by his screams.

Asha kept her word of just one more slice, and then she got off of him. It wasn’t like she was really heavy or anything, but it felt good to no longer have her on him. Her weight had been oppressive, and had made him feel more trapped.

“I’ll give you some time to think,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be more cooperative in an hour or two.”

“What, run out of ideas, you bitch?” Dean taunted, not even sure why the words were leaving his mouth.

“Trust me, I have _plenty_ of ideas. But I need you coherent. I won’t get anything out of you if you pass out.”

She left, maybe to explore the bunker some more, and Dean _really_ didn’t want that, but the break from the torture was nice. He was too out of it to really muster up the courage to get her to stay with him.

 

Dean might’ve passed out. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just drifting in and out of consciousness, but pain followed him wherever he went, clinging to him like a shadow, like something that was simply _there_. He couldn’t get rid of it. He was freezing - maybe from shock, maybe from blood loss. His injuries burned fiery trails throughout the cold, like comets falling from a wintry and cloudy sky in violent bursts, crashing and burning.

He fully came to when he felt Asha’s fingers trailing up his leg. She held a pair of pliers in one hand, and ideas instantly came to mind that made him clamp his mouth shut. But instead of prying his mouth open like he thought she was about to, she went around to his left and grabbed his lamp. She unplugged it before setting to work on it with the pliers.

Dean closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep breaths. He could do this. He could. He could. He had to. It was easy to know what she was doing now. She was going to electrocute him.

About a minute passed and then, _snap!_ The lamp had been plugged back in and turned back on, the electricity thrumming into what was surely the exposed prongs.

Dean swallowed roughly before saying, his voice roughened by fear, “Sorry, sweetheart, electricity isn’t really one of my kinks.”

“Good,” she said. “I don’t have to do this to you. Just tell me where Sam is.”

“Are you deaf?” Dean cried. “I’ve told you already! I don’t know!”

“Hmm… Not good enough for me.”

The prongs touched his neck, and it felt as if a thousand needles were jabbing at his skin. His muscles contracted so fiercely it hurt, and he couldn’t breathe. Fire was being shot through him. His eyes rolled back into his head and his body shuddered all over, his bloodied wrists and ankles being dug into even more by the rope that bound him.

It was over in a few seconds, but he was left breathing heavily, his heart beating erratically as if the organ was wildly questioning what had just happened to him. If Dean lived through this he might join in on questioning this situation later, but he was too stuck in this moment, horror freezing over the tingling in his blood.

“Where is he?” she asked, her tone telling him she was getting very tired of doing this.

Dean said nothing, not sure he could get out anything coherent since he was shuddering so much.

She sighed.

Then came the needles and the fire and the spasms and the choked, guttural scream.

It stopped.

But then it came again.

And again.

“Dean!”

His heart skipped a beat that might not have been from the electricity. He knew that deep voice.

_Castiel._

“ _Dean!_ ”

He didn’t understand much of what happened next. He just hurt, and felt pathetic, and so incredibly stupid. But relieved. Beyond relieved. He heard yells, shouts. Saw Asha’s body moving, saw Castiel’s body moving. Blood. They were fighting.

Asha got her hands on Castiel’s head, and Dean shouted as she twisted and he heard loud snaps and crunches. Castiel went down, his head at a grotesque angle, his worried blue eyes on Dean. He grunted when his best friend’s weight was suddenly on him. His angel blade was near Dean’s leg, and Asha reached for it.

_No, no, no, no…_

Just when Dean thought she was going to get it, Castiel grabbed hold of it, though he had to stretch his arm out awkwardly, his fingers brushing against Dean’s thigh. He quickly lifted himself up and with his other hand, twisted his head back into place, and his eyes were now glowing a bright angelic blue that Dean couldn’t even look at; it blinded him and made his head throb more than it already had been. He grabbed Asha by the shoulder, and rammed the angel blade up into her ribcage. A sound left her that might’ve been an attempt at a scream, her body flashing with demonic, fiery light. And then Castiel let her drop to the floor.

In the silence that followed, slow clapping started up.

Dean blearily looked to the doorway where it was coming from, and saw Crowley, dressed in what looked like to be some of his old pajamas, standing there and _clapping_ , like this had all been some kind of performance.

He stopped and smiled at them, and it was clearly forced. “Good show, everyone!”

“Fuck you,” Dean spat at him. “Where the hell were you?!”

“Yes, where were you? Surely you could’ve helped Dean.”

Crowley shrugged. “His girl, his problem.”

Castiel took a step towards him, angel blade raised threateningly. “He was getting tortured. And you let it happen?”

“Look, you saved me,” Crowley said, “and the way I see it, I’m still recovering.”

Castiel looked him over, and Dean knew his face was scrunched up in confusion. Crowley’s injuries were pretty much all healed at this point, he was sure.

The demon put a hand to his head. “In here,” he explained.

“So you just thought you’d hide away?” Castiel asked. “Don’t you think, just maybe, that you owe us?”

“What, do you want to hear a thank you for saving me? Then thank you. There, happy?”

Castiel flipped his angel blade, and Dean knew him well enough to know that it was in the way he did before he was about to attack. Were he going to put it away he would’ve done it differently, his arm already lowering.

Dean was feeling too many emotions to really pinpoint. Anger? Despair? Self-loathing? He just hurt, and he realized something else that made him start blushing. It could also work to grab Castiel’s attention so he wouldn’t go after Crowley.

He cleared his throat. “Um… yeah, still tied up here, and uh… I’m very naked.”

Crowley looked him over, making Dean frown at him.

“You certainly look messier than the last time I saw you with your pants off.”

Dean groaned at the comment, and Castiel was already turning to him to untie him. Dean winced as the rope pulled at the wounds it’d put there.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, causing his friend to tilt his head towards him, their eyes meeting. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I-it was m-my fault that she was in here. It’s my fault y-you had to save me. It’s a-all my fault. I-I’m sorry.”

Tears were running freely down his cheeks by the time he finished, but Castiel was still looking at him. How could he even look at him? He’d just made him come all the way back here to save him. Surely it was his yearning for him to be with him earlier that had done it. That counted as a prayer, he was sure. Castiel had explained it to him once.

“Dean, don’t think about that just now. I’ll get you healed up.”

At that Dean started laughing, remembering how he’d teased Sam after the battle to save Crowley. The demon and the angel must have thought he’d gone mad.

“Might have to touch my junk to do it,” Dean got out.

Castiel glanced down there, but it was all professional, so Dean didn’t really mind. At this point he just wanted to stop hurting.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“It’d be easier, right?” Dean asked. “Just heal me. I don’t care anymore.”

He was in way too much pain to care, and he no longer felt so embarrassed about being naked. Sure, he didn’t like Crowley’s comment, but he’d seen him naked before, and Castiel didn’t mind. It was Cas. Nothing to worry about.

Though he was telling himself he was fine with it - he was! Surely, he was - he still jumped when he felt Castiel’s hand on him. But then the pain was going away, and he let out a deep sigh.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Dean thought now might be a good time to lose consciousness, but he was drawn from it as he heard Crowley say, “Might want to wash your hand now, Feathers. You don’t know where that’s been. Actually, no, it’s been in the dead bitch on the floor over there.”

“Funny,” Dean grumbled.

Castiel ignored the former king and asked, “What about your other injuries? I could heal those.”

“No, save your strength,” Dean said, closing his eyes. “Sammy. Find Sammy.”

 

There was tugging near Dean’s hip, tugging that turned into stinging and a deep ache. It was enough to wake him up. He tried sitting up to get away before his eyes were even open, and then Castiel was pressing a hand to his shoulder to lie him back down.

“Lie still,” he told him. “The demon didn’t cut you too deeply, but you lost a lot of blood.”

Dean took in his surroundings, the pillars, the musty smell of books, the hard table beneath him.

“Why am I in the library?” he questioned, raising his throbbing left arm to rub at his eyes. It hurt, but he didn’t want to use his right hand. It felt all sticky with blood.

“Crowley, despite being, well… Crowley, volunteered to clean up your room, and I thought it’d be easier to have you on a table. Your blood would be easier to clean that way.”

“You left him alone in my _room_?” Dean asked, not liking what else the former king might be doing in there.

Castiel lowered his eyebrows as he glanced up at him, clearly not understanding what the problem was.

“Whatever,” Dean eventually grumbled.

Castiel went back to work, and Dean raised his head to look down. He was wearing a pair of loose sweatpants that Cas must’ve put him into. Thank god for that. He started blushing thinking about earlier, but then drew his mind away from it.

“God damn it!” Dean shouted at as the needle went into him again, closer up his side, and he even felt his muscles recede from it. He breathed through the pain and then asked, “Why are you even helping me? Like I said, this is my fault.”

“Dean, I don’t care how the demon got into the bunker. I don’t… care what you did with her. She hurt you, and she was going to continue hurting you. And you’re too injured to patch yourself up on your own.”

“But… but what about Sam?”

“Sam can wait. I’m sure he’s taking care of himself just fine right now.”

Thoughts of his little brother drinking demon blood came to him again, but he didn’t mention it. He was right. Sam was desperate, but he could handle himself. Besides, maybe if he was in danger he’d think of them, of Castiel, and Castiel would know. Dean was just worried about him. His brother was alone. Well, he had his two slaves, but Dean didn’t count them. They wouldn’t interact with him like human beings who actually cared about him would; wasn’t even sure they had it in them. They couldn’t keep him safe from himself. And he’d seen Sam’s powers. He wouldn’t need help taking care of any enemies. But the enemies that were inside, the trauma, the fear, the demon blood… Dean knew they were still attacking him.

Dean must’ve muttered some of his thoughts out loud because Castiel went on, “You know what I mean.”

“She wanted Sam, Cas. The demon. She wanted him. Wanted me too.”

“Well, I won’t let any demon get you.”

Dean hated what he was about to say, but based on what had just happened, he knew they had to have this discussion. Their priorities might be all turned around. “Do you think we should let Sam go for now?”

A wince followed, and then he whimpered as Castiel had to press the ends of the wound closer together. The stitches were getting closer to his sternum now, and with it they hurt less, but after everything it was still hard to put up with.

“Maybe… Maybe Vadrach’s more important,” he continued. “After this… he’s clearly a threat.”

“Dean, I can’t go after Vadrach alone.”

“Then I’ll go with you!”

Castiel gave him a pointed look, raising one eyebrow, and Dean sighed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled.

“Maybe if Sam knows that you’ve been tortured he’ll want to take him out, too. He’s changed, but you’re still his brother.”

“Don’t think he even cares,” Dean said.

“He has to.”

The conversation ended there. All of this felt too heavy to talk about at the moment, especially when it all made Dean want to scream and punch the wall, but he was too weak to do that. He lay there, letting Castiel finish stitching him up, taking care of his other wounds as well, and then he was cleaning the blood off of him.

“Do you ever get sick of it?” Dean asked as he looked up as him, his face set with concentration.

“Sick of what?”

“Watching us bleed.”

Castiel stopped what he was doing; resting one hand on the table by his side, and the other was still clutching the cloth, which was pressed against his chest. There were tears in his eyes as he answered, “You know that I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did want to go to Sam's point of view more than I did in this chapter, but it just didn't work out that way. The next chapter will probably have a lot of him.


	47. Fear on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam encounters a problem with Lamazar, and he and Rowena argue about their current arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, using _another_ song title as a chapter title? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> So this chapter is definitely longer than what I usually write for this story, but I think the length works with the content in it, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts near the end.

Sam decided to continue heading northeast. He figured that his brother and his friend would expect him to switch up which direction he was traveling in. And really, that would be the smartest decision, but since they expected it, it meant that he couldn’t do it. So northeast it was. Rowena tried getting him to stop at nice hotels she remembered were nearby as they traveled, and Sam argued with her each time. It wouldn’t be smart to stay at any hotel or motel. The credit card trails could be tracked. The magic could be tracked. There’d be traffic cameras that could see them.

He kept on like that as he drove all day, not content that he was far enough away. He snapped at Rowena a few times, but she always responded with something flirtatious, so that eventually just shut him up. But that didn’t mean she was going to get her way. Sam only made a few stops till night fell, once at a gas station so he and Rowena could use the restroom and grab some snacks (which he made sure to pay for with cash), and at a drive thru to get some food. He didn’t bother doing much in the way of taking care of Lamazar. She was a demon and could deal with it. But he did make sure Ivan got some food and water, mostly so he wouldn’t complain. Besides, he was human, and Sam seemed to have most of his powers now, though he still had control over him. Ivan seemed resentful sitting in the backseat with the demon, until Sam gave him food. It almost made the whole thing feel inhumane, like Ivan was some kind of animal. Sam tried to let it go as he drove. It didn’t matter. Ivan had dragged him into this, so both of them would deal with the consequences.

By the time it was sunset and he was getting tired of the road, they were on the edges of a small town in Minnesota, and Sam, knowing his way around the country enough thanks to having been dragged all over it as a kid, knew that if he drove west for about three hours he’d reach Sioux Falls, where Jody was.

It’d been too long since he’d been able to have a decent conversation with her. He almost wanted to go to her and pretend that everything was alright. Just for a few hours. At her house he’d get food, a hug, a friendly face. Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to do that to Jody. She didn’t know all that was going on, didn’t know how he’d changed. He’d be pretending to be someone he wasn’t anymore, and Sam didn’t want to do that to her. Besides, he knew she’d probably figure out something was up and would call Dean. And then Dean would be one step closer to finding him. So no. No Jody.

Thanks to a map Sam had looked at about an hour ago, he knew exactly where he was heading, but had refused to tell Rowena. She was helping him, so she’d have to put up with it. Sam drove to the end of a dirt road, one that got smaller and smaller as it continued, and the night grew darker as the sun descended and as they were swallowed up by trees. Eventually the road was run over by weeds and long, roughened blades of grass. In this distance he could make out what he knew to be an old house. The lines were too even to be made naturally, and he thought he saw more shadows near the middle of the decently sized area, where a porch and a door might be.

Rowena peered into the darkness, and then looked at him as he turned the car off.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Sam said nothing and started getting out of the car, going around to the back to collect his bags. Ivan opened his door of his own accord, and after getting his stuff Sam grabbed Lamazar, yanking unforgivingly on her chain.

“Samuel!” Rowena shouted at him as he began walking away, Ivan following slowly, seeming like he was about to fall with every step.

He didn’t care that she was unhappy. Sure, it’d probably be a problem later, but she could just sit in the car for now and sulk, and he had a feeling that that’s exactly what she would do.

Once inside the house he dropped his bags down and found his flashlight, switching it on. It was dusty inside and filled with cobwebs, and part of the second floor had fallen through into the first floor. The house was old, maybe a few hundred years old; probably used to be a farmhouse. There wasn’t much to see in the first room. It was empty, save for the fireplace in the front and a single wooden chair that he’d rather not sit on, the legs looking like they were rotting away. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere and he saw a few spiders scuttle away from his light when he pointed it in their direction, mostly in the corners of the room. Ivan sat down on the floor immediately, and Sam glanced at him, but didn’t care much.

Still, he ordered, “Don’t go anywhere.”

The light in the amulet pulsed faintly, adding more light to the dreary house, and he knew his words would be listened to no matter what.

Ivan didn’t even seem to mind. Just closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Come on,” Sam urged, yanking on Lamazar’s chain, and she yanked back this time.

He growled at her and dragged her further into the house, through what looked like it had been a kitchen, wide windows covering the left side of the wall, the wind whistling through the cracks in them, and counters covered in such a thick layer of dust he scarcely wanted to touch it. There was a sink, but he knew it wouldn’t work, unless the house was connected to a well he could somehow get up and running. To the right was the dining room, and some thick curtains were still draped over the windows at the back of the house. The hallway between the two was more interesting because it led to stairs, and there was a door just underneath them. He wondered if it led to the basement, where an electrical unit might be.

Lamazar made some sort of snarling noise through her gag as he dragged her towards the door. The yellowish beam of light from the flashlight wobbled as he placed it into his mouth, so he had a free hand to open the door. The rusted knob chafed at his skin, and it refused to open. So after placing his flashlight on the ground - he’d thought of making Lamazar hold it, but he figured she was too prideful for that - he slammed himself against the door. Once, twice, and then it burst open, broken wood clattering onto the staircase that lay behind it. He coughed in the wake of dust that rose up, and then his nose began to itch. He really hoped he didn’t have to sneeze. For some reason he didn’t want to do that in front of Lamazar. It seemed too human, like he was weak. Besides, just coughing in front of her made him feel weak. He figured it shouldn’t matter though. She was his slave, so ultimately, he _was_ the one in power.

He picked his flashlight up again, sniffling, hoping it’d making the tickling in his nose go away, and then he started heading down the stairs. The stairs were wedge-shaped to accommodate for the spiral shape, and he had to duck to fit under the low ceiling.

Once in the basement he saw that it was devoid of all furniture. Luckily, he did see a metal box mounted on the wall dead ahead that was probably an electrical unit. With some luck he could get it running again. Off to the right, there was a copper pipe sticking out of the ground that curved and went back into the wall.

_Perfect._

Lamazar tried fighting him as he walked over to the pipe, probably knowing what he was going to use it for, but despite her demonic strength, she was much smaller than him, so it wasn’t too much of a struggle. He put the flashlight in his mouth again to chain her up. Once he finished he appraised his work to make sure she was secure. Lamazar glared at him, her eyes now completely blood red. Sam just simply rolled his eyes at that and turned to go back upstairs. He’d need some things he’d packed to turn on the electricity in the house.

“What was that thumping?” Ivan asked, looking small and defeated where he still sat on the floor.

“Had to get a door open,” Sam answered briefly, grabbing his duffle bag with the tools and weapons in it. “I shouldn’t be long,” he told him, not even sure why he was giving him the courtesy of talking to him. “I’m just gonna see if I can get the lights turned on.”

He did manage to get them turned on, but it took longer than he had liked. He’d heard some pops and shattering of glass as he’d done so, letting him know that some of the bulbs were much too old to be storing any electricity in them. Thankfully the lone bulb that lit the basement in an eerie glow hadn’t done so. Sam was fine with the dark, but being in the dark with Lamazar, even while she was chained up, would probably be an unpleasant experience for him.

Sam, pleased with his work, switched off his flashlight and stowed it in his bag with his other tools. After zipping it up he rested it over his shoulder, holding in a grunt from the pain that throbbed through him from the many bruises that still had to heal, he made to go back up the rickety staircase.

That was when a sob met his ears.

He frowned and turned towards Lamazar.

_The hell?_

His eyes widened when he saw tears streaming down her face and streaking her makeup. Her eyes, which were now back to their natural brown held terror and confusion.

“Lamazar?” he questioned, slowly walking over to her.

She shook her head frantically, and screamed through the gag, kicking her legs back as if trying to get away from him.

_Oh god_.

He wasn’t dealing with Lamazar anymore. He was dealing with the vessel.

Sam hadn’t even considered that Lamazar’s vessel might still be alive in there. He’d been too desperate to think about it. He’d just wanted blood, _her_ blood. And now it seemed as if she’d tucked herself away, into the back of her vessel’s mind, waiting to see what Sam would do.

A terrible scream sounded in his head, one drawn from his memories, from his time with Ruby, when she’d made him drink an innocent nurse dry. But she’d been possessed at the time. The demon had still been in her. And he thought he’d had to to kill Lilith. There hadn’t been another way. Looking back he now knew that wasn’t true, knew that Ruby had used and manipulated him. Had taken advantage of him when he was drunk and grieving and suicidal.

Sam clenched his jaw, and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

_Ruby’s dead,_ he told himself.

She _was_ dead, but really, what was so different about this situation? He had been planning on taking more from Lamazar, had been craving her blood since the stop at the drive thru to grab some dinner. But now it seemed like Lamazar wasn’t home. He couldn’t just drink from an innocent girl. Could he?

No, that didn’t matter right now. He had to try and get her to calm down.

He slowly approached her, his palms up in a peaceful gesture.

“It’s okay,” he said to her, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

That last sentence might’ve been a lie. He wasn’t sure yet.

She quieted down and he knelt in front of her, pulling the gag out of her mouth to let it fall around her neck.

“W-who are you?” she asked, her voice choked as if she was trying to not sob.

“My name is Sam,” he told her gently.

“Where am I?”

He didn’t see the harm in telling her, so he answered, “An abandoned house in southern Minnesota. You got here not too long ago.”

She nodded, seeming to trust him, maybe because he was answering her questions.

She looked down at her chains and the handcuffs with runes etched into them.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper. “Why am I chained up?”

Sam sighed and sat down, just so his height wouldn’t seem as intimidating. He knew with talking to victims it was better to get on their level. He really did feel bad about this since he’d been possessed before. But he needed her blood.

“A demon got inside you,” he explained.

“A demon?”

He nodded. “Do you remember any of it? What’s your name?”

“I remember… I remember…”

She trailed off, looking away from him. A few seconds passed in which Sam tried to control his breathing, to stay in the moment. He wouldn’t think about the pounding in his own chest, wouldn’t think about the fact that he could still smell the demon in her, wouldn’t think about the fact that he could hear her heart beating. Without realizing it, Sam licked his lips.

The girl’s eyes widened in horror and she looked to him, her darkened skin turning a paler shade. Her struggles renewed.

“Oh god, you… you cut into me! My back. What did you do to my back?!”

She was crying again, and Sam tried to reach out for her, but she pulled her wrists away and started screaming.

“Let me go! Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

“I can’t!” Sam shouted over her desperate cries.

“Please!”

“I can’t let the demon free,” he explained.

That was true for many reasons. He didn’t want Lamazar causing anymore harm to people, he didn’t want her reporting back to Vadrach, and he didn’t want to have the issue of needing to find a new blood slave.

“Why did you hurt me?” she asked.

Sam looked away at that, swallowing roughly. He had no way to answer that. No lie would be good enough, not to a terrified girl who must be acutely aware that her back had been carved into.

For a second Sam contemplated putting the gag back in, but he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t.

Then what was he supposed to do? Just leave her like this?

_You could do an exorcism,_ he told himself. _It’d be the right thing to do._

He could even use his powers to do it. It’d be easy. Just a few seconds. Lamazar would be back in Hell. The girl would be free.

But then he’d have to find another demon. He’d have to go through the process of hating himself for his actions all over again. At least with a slave it was easier. He didn’t have to worry about how terrible he was being, didn’t have to question about crossing the line and going too far because he already had.

Without saying anything else Sam went upstairs. He’d leave her there for now.

It was probably time to deal with Rowena, who was most likely still sitting out in the car in the cold night.

Before Ivan could even ask what had happened Sam said sternly, letting his thoughts travel through the amulet, twining with its power and Ivan’s soul, “Don’t say a thing.”

Ivan’s big, curious blue eyes still gazed at him questioningly, and anger joined it now. To test something out before he went back outside, Sam said, “Go to sleep.”

The amulet thrummed softly with power, and to his surprised, Ivan’s eyes closed and his breathing evened.

_Holy crap._

He hadn’t known he could do that.

At least it came in handy.

Crickets chirped as he stepped outside and the cold bit through his clothes. It didn’t bother him though – the cold, and he loved it. Before, cold had always bothered him, had always brought back horrific memories, memories of the Cage, of the Devil. But now it was just there, and he didn’t even shiver.

He trudged through the long grass, feeling it brush against his legs through his jeans and he went over to the passenger side door where Rowena was. He yanked it open before she even had the chance to open it of her own accord.

“Aren’t you cold?” he questioned.

She turned away from him so that her red curls fell over one shoulder. It was impossible to not notice the defiant lift of her chin as well.

“No,” she answered.

Despite her words a shudder ran through her.

“Rowena,” Sam started, “I’m having a bit of a situation with Lamazar.”

“You take care of it, she’s your sex slave.”

Sam growled at her at that, but didn’t argue. He still didn’t want her to know the real reason he had Lamazar.

“Fine, then just come in the house. I could get a fire going, maybe figure out how to get the heat turned on.”

“I already told you, I’m not cold.”

Tired of her defiance, of her arguments, of her nearly constant taunts, Sam finally raised his voice at her, “It’s just a damn house, Rowena! Either get your ass inside or I chain you up next to Lamazar.”

Her eyebrows rose at that and she let out a shocked and enraged huff, finally turning to face him.

“ _Excuse_ _me?_ ” she questioned.

Sam knew he’d messed up, but it was too late to back down. He kept his hazel eyes on her green ones. “You heard me.”

She threw out her hand, an incantation swiftly leaving her mouth, and then he was lifted off his feet, and was hurtled through the air, flipping over backwards. He landed on his stomach, all the bruises still not healed there being upset from the rough impact, and it took him a few seconds to catch his breath. A few rocks were digging into his torso, and one dug into his leg.

“How _dare_ you speak to me like that!” Rowena all but screeched at him, coming over to where he still lay. “You came to _me_. Me! And this is how you treat me? Like one of your goddamn slaves? I’m _not_ your slave, Samuel, or your pet, or whatever the hell you must think I am to talk to me like that. I am helping you out of the goodness of my own heart, and-”

Rowena must’ve meant to go on, but Sam started laughing at her last statement, getting up onto his hands and knees, and it made her stop abruptly.

“What  _now_?” she questioned impatiently.

“Goodness of your own heart? Really?”

“It’s… It’s true.”

Sam smirked at her as he sat back on his feet. “No, it’s not. Don’t pretend. We both know it. You’re just helping me because you want something from me. I don’t know what it is, but I know that’s how you operate.”

“And what about last night?” she questioned.

He shrugged; brushing the dirt off of himself as he stood, glad that he could now tower over her.

“You’re lonely. And here I am. That’s all it was, that’s all this will ever be.”

“Well tell me what _this_ is, then!” Rowena burst out in irritation. “Are we friends? Enemies? You’re talking about last night as if we slept together, which we _didn’t_.”

She sounded upset that they hadn’t, but Sam tried to not think about that. He didn’t want that. Not from anyone. Not ever again. But god, she was making him so… so… He didn’t know.

“Why do you even care? And we’re not enemies… for _now_ , but we’re definitely not friends, not with the comments you’ve been making all day.”

Rowena crossed her arms and blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“About Lamazar!” he shouted. “You keep calling her my freakin’ sex slave, and she’s _not_! Okay?”

“Why does it bother you so much? I don’t _actually_ mean that.”

There was a pause, Sam still breathing heavily from yelling at her, his voice seeming to echo throughout the night and bouncing around the trees.

“Unless of course, she _is_.”

Sam tilted his head at her and raised his eyebrows. “Rowena, stop it,” he growled. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Stop it?” she asked. “ _Another_ order out of you? _This_ is why I’ve been taunting you all day, Samuel! The orders, the damn orders! I won’t put up with it. Why is it that _you_ come to _me_ for help, and then suddenly, you’re in charge? I thought you were less of an arse than your brother, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Oh, so you want to bring Dean into this?” Sam questioned.

“No, I don’t want to bring him into this, but you’re acting like you’re the most important thing in the world!” She took a step forward, apparently not caring that she now had to crane her neck up with her close proximity. “News flash, you numpty - you’re not. You’re nothing but a pathetic, lowly hunter who’s trying to turn himself into a god because he’s terrified of being a lost, little boy in this awful world of ours.”

Literal pain seemed to flash through Sam’s chest at that, and he didn’t even know why her words hurt. Why did they matter? She didn’t matter to him. He didn’t care about her. Did he? He’d been upset when she’d died before, but he wasn’t sure what he felt. Since he’d been going down a dark path he’d felt a kinship with her. But maybe they were both too different for either of them to be able help each other.

Sam knew words could hurt, and while he was grateful Rowena hadn’t hit the nail on the head with him he still had the need to lash out. So he took a step closer, even though now he had to tilt his head down at a ridiculous angle since he was over a foot taller than her.

“And you’re nothing but a power-hungry, conniving, lonely witch who was cast out by the people who were supposed to love her, cast out by society, by your own kind, and you can’t even fathom being in that stupid house over there for a damn second because you’re selfish and stuck up and think you’ve had enough suffering. _You_. Your suffering is _nothing_ compared to mine. Nothing. So you don’t like being uncomfortable? Tough. I hate being tortured, but look what my life has thrown at me!”

Tears welled up in Rowena’s eyes, but she still said, “Oh no, the poor baby is whining now.”

Sam let out a wordless shout and grabbed her by the throat, ready to throw her to the ground, but she choked out a spell, and he landed flat on his back.

“I’m still more powerful than you,” she spat. “Remember that.”

Rowena started turning to walk away, and Sam fought against his magical restraints, which he could feel like magnetic energy around his wrists and ankles.

Sam didn’t know what did it. Whether it was the realization that she was more powerful in some ways, or if it was the darkness surrounding him, or if it was the restraints, but he started having a hard time breathing, and pain seemed to take over his entire body. He knew it wasn’t real, he knew it wasn’t, but Lucifer’s laugh sounded in his head. His own screams sounded in his head. Blood, there was so much blood. And aching and burning and shattering and just pure and utter torment.

“Rowena!” he cried desperately, not even sure what he was doing anymore.

She was probably willing to leave him like that all night, and he couldn’t do it. Not like this. His stomach churned and he winced as it felt like Lucifer’s mouth was up against his ear.

_No, no… Not this. Anything but this._

Now he felt cold. And that couldn’t be real either. Because of the amulet which hung around his neck awkwardly and dangled down into the grass, its dim blue-white light nearly hidden from him, he couldn’t feel cold. He knew that. He did. But he was freezing, goosebumps rising up on his skin.

Darkness rose up in him, something that always sat there, waiting to take over his mind, to eat it, to make him into nothing but a tormented soul driven by deep, animal fear. It was heavy and choking, like thick, poisonous smoke seeping throughout his body, his blood, his nerves, till it tainted every organ, down into his bones, coating his soul before penetrating it. Or was it in his soul and spreading outward from it? He felt sick. Sick with himself, sick with his memories. Just sick, and like he needed to bathe a thousand times to wash himself clean of it all, and then some.

Sam could see that Rowena was walking back to the car, but he barely registered it. There was the darkness, and the agony, and now he saw glowing red eyes in his vision, and then something worse. Something that he couldn’t put words or proper thoughts to. It filled him with horror, and dread, and fear the gnawed at his spine. It was his face. Lucifer’s face. It seared his mind till he lay on the ground screaming.

Hands were on him. Small hands. Rowena.

“Sam?!” she cried out. “Sam, what’s wrong? Please, tell me, what’s wrong?!”

“D-don’t touch me,” he got out. “Please… _stop_.”

To his utmost surprise she did, and the restraints fell away.

Sam didn’t know what to do. Feeling the hard ground against his back wasn’t helping, feeling the way the blades of grass tickled against his neck wasn’t helping, looking up at the stars that he could see where the trees left an opening to the sky wasn’t helping. Knowing, knowing he wasn’t in the Cage, wasn’t helping.

How had it happened? Sam hadn’t remembered having an attack or whatever the hell this was to this degree in ages. And usually they happened when he was alone, and he’d just had to wait it out. But he couldn’t wait it out. He had to find out more about Ivan. He had to. He didn’t have time for this, for any of this.

“Do you want help getting inside?” Rowena asked tentatively.

Sam nodded, though he just wanted to lie there and never get up again. It was too much. It was all too much.

Fire. Fire was consuming him.

He let Rowena help him up, trying to focus on her touch, on how she felt different from Lucifer.

He had no injuries save for the bruises on his torso, so he could walk just fine, but she was his anchor for now. She wasn’t much, but it was all he had. Sam mostly just let her lead him over to the house, even though he knew where it was.

Once they were inside he skirted around Ivan, and lightly shoved Rowena away. He felt like he was going to collapse, his head swimming. He grabbed onto the mantle of the fireplace and leaned over it.

“Um… just try to take deep breaths.”

How could he take deep breaths when he could scarcely remember how to breathe?

“Talk,” Sam got out.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

He half listened as Rowena broke into a raunchy story about a man she’d slept with a few years ago, not sparing any details. At a certain point he stopped her, saying, “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“But you asked me-”

“Nothing with sex,” Sam stated, hoping she’d listen, and that she wouldn’t ask questions, and that for god’s sake she wouldn’t put two and two together.

No, nothing with that. That brought up too much. It even brought up stuff with Ruby, and he just wanted to stab a knife into his chest and twist it.

“Fine,” she sighed.

She went to a different story, talking about Crowley as a baby and how he hadn’t wanted to go to sleep, so she’d given him some alcohol to do the trick. It wasn’t the content of the story that helped since it was downright terrible, but her voice helped. She wasn’t Lucifer. He wasn’t with him. He was in an abandoned house with Rowena, with his slaves. Oh god, and what to do about Lamazar’s vessel? He hadn’t even managed to get her name out of her.

Sam decided he was too tired to think about that for now, so he simply didn’t. He listened.

Sam settled down onto the floor as the story ended, and he was breathing easier, memories no longer bombarding his head.

“Thanks, Rowena,” he said.

She was studying him, her gaze a bit too curious for his liking, but she said nothing, not even a _you’re welcome_.

He was weary to his bones, but he didn’t think he could sleep. He turned his head and looked wistfully over at Ivan who was sleeping peacefully under Sam’s command. If only he could do that to himself.

Tension seemed to grow between them, from all the questions Rowena surely had, from all that had been said between them, from all that had to still be done. He broke it by asking, “Do you know any spells that could put me to sleep? Just for a little bit.”

She nodded, pressed a hand gently to his forehead and said, “ _Somnia_.”

Sam was asleep before he could even process that he was being dragged blissfully down into darkness.


	48. Better Than Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam runs into a moral dilemma, and he and Rowena share an interesting moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lamazar says some _weird_ things I asked her not to in this chapter. Also, Jody makes an appearance! Well, just on the phone, but man, I love Jody. She's going to show up a lot in my story that takes place after this one. Depending on how the second story goes, she might show up a little bit in the third on as well at the end.

Sam woke up with sun shining through the windows, and a headache pounding away between his eyes. But he didn’t think it was from the spell. He actually liked the spell. Not a single nightmare had plagued him, and before, whenever he’d have attacks on that scale he’d always have nightmares after.

Sam sat up and stretched, looking around him. Rowena was nowhere in sight, which was probably for the better. He had a hunger he had to sate. It was deep inside him, pulling at his chest like there was a yawning chasm that had to be filled. His heart beat erratically, and it felt like the inside of his head was tingling. To make matters worse, when he stood he realized he was shaking.

Even with daylight streaming through some of the windows it was gloomy in the house; Rowena had probably turned off most of the lights, and she might even be asleep; he wasn’t sure what time it was. No, she wasn’t asleep; he heard creaks from upstairs. Maybe she’d found a bedroom for herself and a place to settle down. Or maybe she was working on the spell he’d eventually need. Either that or she was pacing and cursing his name.

Now that he wasn’t so heated Sam felt bad about the things he’d said to her earlier. He didn’t want to feel bad, had thought that he was past that now. He shut the emotion down, almost just like flipping an off switch. Turning off his emotions like that was something he’d learned to do over the years, and it seemed to make him feel worse in the long run, but he didn’t see why he couldn’t do it now. He didn’t need to feel bad about last night, didn’t want to, just like he didn’t need or want any of the pain he was carrying. All he needed was the power from the amulet that hung around his neck and the blood from the demon downstairs.

Sam didn’t bother turning lights on as he went back to the basement, even though the hallway was cast in shadows. The light was still on down there, letting Sam know he’d still been the only one who’d gone to see Lamazar. Good. It’d be bad if Rowena knew what he was up to.

As he made his way down the steps, shuffling and what might’ve been a sob met his ears. When he got downstairs he saw the the girl had huddled herself up in the corner. Sam sighed, not liking what he had to do, and walked over to her. He knelt down, getting on her level. She avoided his gaze and he grabbed her face to look her in the eyes.

“Lamazar, I know you’re in there,” he said sternly, aggravated that the demon was even doing this to him. “Come on, don’t make the girl have to deal with this.”

Nothing. He let go of the girl’s face and she lowered her eyes away from him.

Sam grabbed the knife that was sheathed in his boot, and he observed its jagged edges for a few seconds. Could he really do this?

Before he even had time to make a decision, his phone started ringing. He put the knife away and let out an exasperated huff before pulling the device out to look at the caller ID.

It was Jody.

“Damn it,” he murmured.

Sam didn’t know why, but he answered.

“Hey, Jody.”

“Sam, I’m surprised you picked up.”

Sam glanced at the girl, and he was actually startled that she hadn’t started screaming so Jody could hear. She was silent. Odd.

Even though he was starting to feel hot and cold at the same time, and his knees began wobbling, Sam answered as normally as he could. “Really? Why?”

“You didn’t sound so good last time we talked.”

“Oh, yeah, just some drama going on with Dean,” he responded. “You know how he is.”

“Are you boys doing good now?”

Sam looked around the dark, musty room, looked at the girl he had chained to the pipe, shivering from cold in her skimpy dress, looked at the knife in his other hand, thought about how Dean must be in a rage looking for him. And then he started pacing, running a trembling hand over his mouth as he tried to collect himself.

His throat began to ache, and when he spoke his voice was rough, “Yeah, we’re doing good.” As an attempt to cover it up he cleared his throat and then asked, “Um… Why are you calling?”

“Come on, Sam, you’re my friend. Can’t I call to check up on you?”

“Right, sorry.”

A pause as Jody most likely took in his tone. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She sounded worried, and he could practically hear her motherly voice coming in. She’d used it on him a few times, and he really did appreciate it, but not now; not when the blood was calling to him.

He stopped pacing, and set his gaze on the girl again. She wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. She was smaller than him, was chained up. All he had to do would be to pick a spot near an artery, where lots of blood was pumping, and then he could lap up the hot liquid, feel it fill the chasm and emptiness in him and flood through his veins. Sam inhaled deeply, able to smell her even from where he stood.

“Sam? Sam.”

“W-what?”

He hadn’t realized that Jody had continued saying anything to him, had forgot about her question.

“Are you alright?” she asked again, nearly enunciating each word to get the point across she knew something was up.

“Yeah,” Sam lied, a quiver in his voice.

_Bah-bump. Bah-bump. Bah-bump. Bah-bump._

“Look, Sam, maybe you should come by. It’s been awhile since you’ve stopped in. I’d love to see you… Dean too.”

“I’ll… I’ll try and stop by soon,” Sam lied. “I’ll bring Dean.”

“Alright, well keep in touch. I miss you boys.”

“Miss you, too, Jody. Bye.”

Jody said her farewell, and Sam put his phone back in his pocket, his eyes on the girl all the while. Oh god, who cared if it was an innocent girl? There was _still_ a demon there, there was still the blood. He hadn’t needed it like this when Ruby had made him drink that nurse. He’d felt powerful when he’d done that - not like he was doing the right thing - but he hadn’t had any of his withdrawal symptoms. He’d been full and had simply taken in more.

Sam started coming forward, and then he knelt down in front of her, grabbing her face in one hand to lift her head up. She started whimpering in fear, but Sam could barely hear it over her heart beating. He ran the knife along her neck, just above where the gag hung down, putting pressure. He made sure not to cut too deep, since he needed her alive, but he did it enough to get at the source of his power that was pumping through her veins.

He ignored her cries as he brought his mouth forward and began to drink from her. Unable to help himself, a delighted moan left Sam, but he didn’t care.

“Stop! Stop! Please, _stop_!”

Sam knew those words, had said them many times in his life, but the more he drank, the more his sympathy disappeared, the blood washing it away. There was just the hot liquid on his tongue that tasted brilliant and comforting and like home, and it made him feel like energy was traveling throughout his body, becoming part of him.

She started writhing around too much, so he pulled back, grabbed her hair and tilted her head back even more. He dropped the knife to free his other hand and then took hold of her shoulder. Part of him was disgusted by how close their bodies were, by the fact that his mouth was on her, but he needed this. He needed it to protect himself, to survive. He needed it just like he needed the power from the amulet. Sam wouldn’t be helpless, and the way his argument with Rowena had gone last night proved that he still was.

To his surprise the girl started laughing, and he drew away from her, frowning as he licked blood from his lips. Why was she _laughing_?

“So you’d really drink from me while a human was in the driver’s seat?” Lamazar asked, her eyes now a deep, blood red that only made Sam more hungry.

The change had been so quick that Sam was confused.

“W-what?”

“This vessel, she’s dead, Sam. It’s just me in here.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

“To see how far you’d go. You really are a hungry boy, aren’t you?”

Sam growled at her, gripped her tighter and brought his mouth to the wound again, hoping she’d scream instead of talk. He was now too irrational to think of a way to get her to shut up. There was just blood.

As if she was trying to take advantage of the situation, for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom, she wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him closer.

Sam bit her, hoping it’d get her to stop, but that only seemed to spur her on because she started slowly grinding against him. His heart was pumping, adrenaline coursing through him, demon blood filling him, and she was so warm against him. But Sam couldn’t do it. Just the mere arousal beginning to take over his body, the flash of skin on skin in his mind, made Lucifer’s overwhelming scent fill his nostrils. He bit her again, widening the wound, tugging at it with his teeth, making blood spill onto her dark skin that he eagerly lapped up.

“Come on, Sam,” Lamazar urged in between pained moans. “I know… I know how Lucifer turned you into a slut.”

God, he wanted her to shut up. Lucifer was taking over his mind, even as he drank from her, and her words echoed in his head. They had more power than he wanted them to, so he bit deeper, wanting it to hurt. Thankfully he didn’t have to care about how deep he went with this. She was a demon. His teeth couldn’t kill her.

Even as she cried out, trying to pull her neck away from him, her hips moved against him, her dress riding up over her thighs. Sam grabbed one of her hips, just wanting her to _stop_. It worked, but she didn’t seem to like it ‘cause she kept talking.

“I know what he did to you down there in the Cage,” she taunted breathlessly, pain melding with her voice. “We all... know. It was so easy to go and watch if we wanted to. The two of you put on quite a show. I especially liked all the times you... didn’t fight back. It made me so wet.”

Part of Sam wanted to shove her away, to slam her head against the stone wall until he saw brains, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he was getting such succulent blood from her. It made him feel so alive, and if not for her words, he’d feel in control.

That’s what she was trying to do, he realized - shift the control.

She wanted power ‘cause he was making her feel helpless. If Sam kept at this it would mean that he won, in the end.

So he growled at her, and then dug his tongue into the wound, listening to the way it made her moan.

“I’m getting wet now,” she got out in between pained gasps. “I didn’t know you could be so dominant. In the Cage you were such a submissive little bitch.”

_Don’t say anything, don’t say anything._

Sam pulled back, to tell her, “You’re not enjoying this,” he said, looking into her eyes which had yet to go back to the vessel’s natural brown. “That’s why you won’t shut up.”

She smirked at him. “How do you know talking isn’t part of my foreplay?”

He tilted his head at her, his mouth open as he licked blood off his bottom lip.

“‘Cause you’re smart enough to know you’re not getting anything out of this.”

“Why not? I know you’ve slept with a demon before. Don’t you miss it?”

“No,” he told her resolutely before he went back to sucking at her neck.

He didn’t miss it. Sam didn’t miss any of that, and Lamazar’s advances, though a sign of how much she hated what he was doing to her, made him feel weak. He felt weakened because his body now missed the way she’d been grinding against him, and he was pretty sure he was driving his hips down into her, and he kept telling himself it was just to keep her still. But nothing would come of it. It couldn’t. He didn’t want it, and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t want it from her. Not from someone tainted and twisted, and especially not from someone who wouldn’t have a choice in the matter even if they did want it. Besides, this was better than sex. Sex was complicated. Sex had hurt him in the past. This didn’t hurt. This was only bliss.

So he kept drinking Lamazar’s blood, and as he did so, she began to describe, in detail, some of the things she’d seen Lucifer do to him.

It hurt, digging into his scarred soul, but the wounds filled with demon blood, and he kept on drinking.

 

Sam wasn’t sure how long he was down there with Lamazar, but by the time he went to the kitchen and had cleaned himself off a bit, Rowena found him. The towel he’d been using was bloody, so he nonchalantly dropped it into the sink and shifted to move in front of it so that she wouldn’t see it. He hoped there wasn’t still blood on him. He hadn’t gotten the water in the house running yet, so he just had to do with this.

“Where were you?” she asked him, arms crossed like some kind of stern mother. It was weird coming from her, but she was probably still upset about the night before.

“Downstairs with Lamazar,” he answered.

Rowena gave him a sly smile. “How was that?”

“ _Not_ sexual,” Sam responded, knowing, and hating, exactly where her head went.

“Mm hm.”

“Rowena,” he sighed, “just, please stop with all that. That’s not what she’s for, and I think you know that.”

“Do I? You just spent some quality time with her, and your cheeks are all flushed.”

Sam blushed at what she was insinuating and turned his head away slightly.

“If you wanted that you could just ask me,” she added.

Things seemed to get real quiet after her comment, and he couldn’t even hear any birds singing any longer. Sam felt a weird tingling in his body, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He licked his lips, unsure of what to say, what to do.

And then he was moving towards her and he didn’t know why, and she was moving towards him, and his pulse started racing, and he thought that maybe the sudden flash of heat and cold in him might be fear. But he kept moving, till they were touching and he was cupping her face in his hands and she gently held onto his wrists and their lips were touching.

This was something he hadn’t felt in years, something he didn’t even know he remembered feeling in a positive way. It terrified him that it was happening, that he could feel her against him. Her lips were soft against his, malleable, and he moved his gently, hoping he could still do this well. It was odd touching someone else like this. Even as he did so, it wasn’t her he smelled so much, but Lucifer and Ruby and even other people and things that had touched him without him wanting it. But no, he was with her. He wanted it to be her because she’d waited for him to make the first move. She respected him, even with all the teasing and the arguments and the times she’d been his enemy. Maybe they were still enemies.

But it was difficult to think about right now. He couldn’t, not with all the painful memories starting to take over his mind again giving him a headache, not with how hard he was fighting them back. Sam moved one of his hands to the small of her back and pulled her tight against him, sucking on her bottom lip as he did so. In turn, she caressed his arm, seeming to enjoy touching his bicep and not knowing where to hold onto him. Her mouth opened slightly and he felt her exhale softly against him. Sam moved his other hand into her hair, and it was pleasantly soft, and he pulled on it gently, making Rowena gasp. She smiled against his lips, but he couldn’t find the same joy in this. That need that Lamazar had set in him, that she had reminded him about, was still there, and he suddenly thought of ripping Rowena’s clothes off and taking her on the floor. With that thought came confusion, which then turned into nausea as it suddenly felt like a hand that wasn’t hers was caressing his back, down to his ass.

Sam pulled away quickly, but he didn’t let go of her. If he did, if he pulled away and hung his head over the sink and tried to control his breathing in the hopes that he wouldn’t throw up she’d know something was wrong, she’d ask questions.

“What was that?” she asked.

“The kiss, or…?”

“Pulling your head back like that.”

“Haven’t kissed anyone in awhile,” he murmured.

She reached up and patted his cheek fondly.

“Well, you’re very good for someone who’s just getting back at it.”

He shook his head, pulling away now, and leaning down over the sink.

“I don’t know what that was,” he said. “I guess…” Where to take this? He didn’t know. “I guess I just feel bad about last night, about yesterday, and the way I’ve been treating you.”

Rowena let out a laugh. “Don’t be. I’ve been terrible to you, too. We both had it coming.”

“Then a thank you?” he tentatively suggested, tilting his head to look at her. “You helped me last night.” 

Rowena leaned against the counter as well now, but faced the opposite direction, her head turned to the left to look at him. “Samuel,” she began slowly, “if I asked you about last night, would you tell me?”

“No.”

She smiled sadly, as if she’d been expecting to be disappointed. “Thought not.”

Sam almost wanted to reach out and touch her again, just to prove to himself that it had been her that he’d kissed, that it hadn’t been… terrible. But he worried about where that would lead, if it would turn into anything he didn’t think he could get out of. It could be something that would hurt him, something he would regret. So he turned his gaze back to the bloody towel in the sink.

“Come on,” she said, tugging at his sleeve, and making him jump. “I was hoping you’d take me out for breakfast. I’ve been getting the spell ready, but we both need our strength for the last part.” She started walking away, but then turned back to him, suggesting, “Oh, but maybe brush your teeth first, darling. Your mouth tastes a bit mingin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who thought that ending was gonna happen with Sam and Rowena? I'm seriously interested in hearing your thoughts about Sam and Rowena's relationship in my story, or in general, I guess.


	49. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lamazar contacts Vadrach, Dean gets a call from Jody, and Sam gets put under Rowena's spell to discover more about the amulet.

With Sam gone, Lamazar set her plan into motion. She had purposefully antagonized him, had wanted him to make her bleed. Well, she hadn’t liked how he was in power - she wasn’t used to that - but she’d needed blood for what she had planned. It was time to contact Vadrach, and oh, she was just too lucky. When Sam had been talking to that woman, Jody, Lamazar had managed to see the caller ID, and recognized where it was from. Sioux Falls, South Dakota. With the power Sam was gaining and with the trouble he’d already caused she had a feeling that her new boss would love the opportunity to take him out. They just had to lure him someplace to do so, and what better way to do that than to go after those close to him?

It was awkward, but she managed to hold her handcuffed wrists up against the neck, right near the bloodflow. The still-warm liquid began to pool in her palms, dripping down in the miniscule space in between her hands just a bit, getting on her dress and also coating the sides and backs of her hands.

When it felt as if there was a sufficient amount she pulled her hands away, stared into the blood, and chanted, “ _Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem_.”

Vadrach answered her immediately, and she smiled, her eyes blood red.

 

Sam was surprised when he had the appetite to eat all the food he ordered at the little diner he’d found. Usually after what had happened the night before he’d be left too sickened to eat. But he felt fine at the moment. The only explanation for that that he could see was the demon blood he’d had. Sure, the things Lamazar had said had upset him greatly (which was an understatement), but her blood had quenched his thirst, sated his hunger, filled in the wounds in his soul like nothing could, not even the amulet. But he needed that too. He couldn’t go rushing on ahead though, which was why he was with Rowena.

To his surprise, as they ate, Rowena toned down the flirting and the teasing. She didn’t even mention the kiss, which surprised him greatly.

It almost bothered him. He wasn’t used to it.

He tried telling himself it was because she was going over the final steps for the spell in her head. But what if she was piecing together what he needed Lamazar for? Her comment about how his mouth had tasted still bothered him. He knew demon blood tasted different from blood in general, more sweet - or maybe that was just to him - but Rowena was smart. What if she was quietly figuring it all out?

Sam was so nervous about it that on the way back to the house they were squatting at he asked her what she’d been thinking about.

“Why does it matter?” she instantly responded.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t. You’ve been awfully quiet, is all.”

“Yes, dear, it’s called focus.”

So he tried to shrug it off. Once they were back he went and woke up Ivan, and his slave seemed confused that it was daytime. Sam didn’t bother explaining what he’d done to him, that he’d made him sleep this whole time, but he did put an arm around him to help him to an upstairs bedroom where Rowena said she had mostly everything ready.

“What is this?” Ivan asked once he saw two beds pushed nearly together, a circle of candles around each of them.

“A spell,” Sam answered. “I’m gonna find out more about you. Where you come from, who you are, how the amulet came to be. Before I take more from it I want to understand it all.”

Ivan said nothing to that, and Rowena ordered, “Just lie him down on one of the beds. And boys, take off your shirts.”

Sam gave Rowena a weird look as he helped Ivan sit on the bed near the broken window on the far end of the room. The witch just rolled her eyes, and told him in exasperation, “It’s for the spell, you giant. Now do as I say.”

As Sam took a seat on the other bed, Ivan looked at him questioningly, and once he nodded his head, his slave easily complied. Sam took off his plaid shirt - which, he admitted, after sleeping in it, probably needed to be washed - and then he took off the black t-shirt he had on underneath.

Rowena was leaning her weight on the end of the bed, eyeing him quizzically. “What’s with you and all the layers she asked?”

“Don’t you have a spell to get ready?” he snapped back.

She raised her hands in a manner that let him know she would back down. “Fine, fine.”

Sam did his best to not direct a glare at her, thinking it was probably just nerves that were making him so irritated at the moment, and then he lay down. He stared at the ceiling, not wanting to look at Ivan or Rowena.

“This will hurt,” she informed them as he heard little clicks; she was probably lighting the candles. He hadn’t expected she’d use a lighter, but maybe she didn’t want to drain all her energy.

“What? Why?”

Rowena now stood in between them, a knife in one hand, and with her free hand she danced her fingers across Sam’s chest. “Why, I need to carve into your skin, of course!”

Then, something occurred to Sam, and he asked, pretending to simply be curious, “Would this spell still work on someone if they weren’t entirely human, or if their blood wasn’t?”

She gave him a curious look, switching the blade to her other hand and ran it along his sternum, making Sam’s breathing heavy. She wasn’t his enemy right now, but this situation was still uncomfortable. If she wanted to she could hurt him, and badly.

“It should,” she answered slowly, probably trying to figure out why he’d asked. “But it was something I put together myself, and-”

At that, Sam abruptly grabbed her wrist with one hand and the knife in the other, and then sat up, which put their faces very close together.

“Don’t your spells boil people’s brains?” he asked carefully.

“Sometimes,” she said defensively, trying to pull out of his grip. “But it’s not as if that would kill you anyway. You’re basically immortal at this point.”

“Rowena,” he began, “you have to promise me no harm will come to me or Ivan.”

Instead of trying to pull away again, she leaned in closer, and Sam knew it was probably a trick to get him to relax his hold on her. It was something he’d done to his enemies sometimes. But they weren’t enemies. Were they? She was helping him for now. But why? Maybe she was still his enemy. No, he didn’t want that to be true. They’d kissed and… He didn’t know how he felt about that. It was all so confusing.

“Do you really think I would go through all this, and put up with your bullish nature just to hurt you? If I wanted to hurt you you’d know it by now. Besides,” she leaned closer, their lips nearly brushing together, and Sam had his mouth open, suddenly finding it more difficult to breathe, “I don’t kiss my enemies.”

Sam thought about kissing her again, just to see if it would be as confusing as the last time, but Ivan interrupted the moment, or whatever it had been, by clearing his throat.

“Can we just get this over with?” he asked.

Sam released Rowena and she pulled back before holding her hand out for the knife. He gave it to her, though he was still wary about what this spell would put him through.

“Lie down,” she murmured.

Sam lowered his brow in a threatening look before he complied.

Rowena raised the knife and began chanting.

 

“What’s the wifi password?”

Dean drew his gaze from the bottle of scotch in his hand, to Crowley who was still in pajamas and looking rather downcast, and Dean’s first instinct was to judge him because this wasn’t the Crowley he knew. This wasn’t the high-end, vicious, driven King of Hell he’d grown to know and even like on some occasions. This was someone who was at one of his lowest moments and had seemingly given up. Even before, Dean figured Crowley would’ve helped him were he in trouble, but that day, he’d just let him get tortured. And because of that, and because of Sam leaving, Dean supposed he didn’t look much better. Castiel had finished patching him up, and had argued that he could heal him, but Dean didn’t want him to, figuring he deserved it. The pain was awful, and he’d barely held it together when Castiel was stitching up the cut near his pelvis. He had ended up losing the argument about getting healed when Castiel got to his neck and saw the black marks on his skin from getting electrocuted, some of it having peeled back and burned away, like two puncture marks, showing red and puffy flesh. Somehow while his friend had been healing him he could feel his Grace seeking out other hurts in his body, wishing to take care of them as well, and Dean had tiredly slapped his hand away, not wanting it and not liking how intimate that searching had been. Now, after chugging a bottle of water, he was back to alcohol, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the library wearing only the sweatpants Castiel had put him in.

Hell, he probably looked worse than Crowley, who had finished healing from his injuries at Vadrach’s hands.

“What?” he asked, not totally comprehending his question.

Crowley drew a black phone out of his pocket as he sat down in the chair beside his, angled so it was facing him a bit.

“I found this while cleaning your room, figured it was one of your old phones, and I plugged it in and it still works.”

Dean just shook his head tiredly and took a sip from his bottle.

“Shoulda known you’d go through my stuff.”

“You’re Dean Winchester. Any demon would kill to go through your things.” A pause, and then, “So what’s the wifi password? I wanna download some 60s pop songs, but I can’t do that without wifi.”

Dean groaned and then told it to him, too tired to argue, and the demon tapped it into his phone. And really, Crowley having music to listen to would be better than him lying around doing nothing. Not really sure why he did it, Dean passed the bottle to him, and the former king took a sip before handing it back.

“Oh, and I grabbed this for you,” Crowley said, digging into his other pocket and taking out Dean’s current phone he was using. “It was in the jeans you’d um… left on the floor.”

He took it from him and saw that he had a missed call from Jody from a few minutes ago. Part of him was annoyed Crowley hadn’t given him the phone then, but he was glad that the demon hadn’t picked up for him.

“So, was she any good?” Crowley asked.

“Hmm?” he questioned, the phone to his ear, already having tapped on Jody’s name to call her back.

“Asha, was she any good?”

Dean shrugged, not really wanting to think about that demon bitch, and not wanting to lead Crowley down any paths that would have him start spewing crude comments as he sometimes did. He’d especially done it when Dean had been a demon himself.

Jody picked up and before he could say hello she asked, “Is Sam okay?”

“Why?”

“I called him a while ago and he said he was fine, but… I don’t know. He sounded off.”

Dean took another swig from the bottle and then placed it down on the end table next to his chair, so he could put his hand to his forehead as he sighed.

“So he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Should Dean tell her? He wouldn’t tell her everything, no, he couldn’t do that, but she was their friend; she deserved to know some of what was going on. But Dean didn’t want to talk about it.

_It’s Jody,_ he told himself, trying to work up the nerve to do so.

He swallowed roughly and then informed her in a weak voice, “Sam left, Jody. He’s gone. I… I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, but he’s… he’s not okay.”

A few seconds of silence as Jody processed this. “Dean, what happened?”

“Long story. Involves an amulet, a slave I wanna punch in the face, and now some fucking demon bitch. He… I…” Dean took a deep breath, steeled himself for what he was going to say next, felt a deep pain in his chest as he went over the last few weeks, particularly the last few days Sam had been with them. How he’d hurt Castiel, how he’d just given up, how he was drinking demon blood again, becoming something he wasn’t. “I’m not even sure he’s my brother anymore.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. He’d been like this years ago when he’d first found out about Sam drinking demon blood, and they’d pulled through together, hadn’t they? Sam had pulled through because that’s what Sam did. But that time he’d been getting manipulated, and this time he’d chosen it. But… had he really? Hadn’t Ivan started all of this? Still, Dean thought he himself had changed since then, thought he was better than this. Maybe he wasn’t.

“Dean, don’t say that. You boys have been through a lot. Whatever is going on, you can fix it. You always do. And I’m here. I can help.”

“No, this is ugly. You don’t want to get involved. Trust me. There’s stuff about Sam you don’t know, stuff that’s so evil it’ll make your blood freeze over. Some of it I’ve dealt with before. But… I don’t think I can do it again, Jody. He doesn’t want to do it again. He just took off. I can’t find him, and I doubt he’s coming back.”

Dean hated saying that. He hated himself for saying it. Castiel had urged him to talk to Sam, to try and get him to help them with Vadrach, but the truth was, Dean didn’t want him near another demon. He knew his brother could probably take out Vadrach, but what he might do afterwards was bound to give him nightmares.

“Please, you can talk to me. Why don’t you visit? Claire and Alex would love to see you, and-”

“I can’t.”

“Dean Winchester, you listen to me, I am not going to let you sulk in that bunker of yours. I will go down there myself if I have to and I’m gonna drag your ass to Sioux Falls just so you can get out, see your friends. And we’ll talk about this. Sam’s your brother, and I haven’t seen anyone closer than the two of you. Whatever this is, I will help you work it out. You don’t even have to tell me everything. You just have to let me be there for you.”

“I don’t-”

“You listen to me,” she interrupted, her voice even more fierce than before, “I know you, and I know you were about to say you don’t deserve it. Well, tough. You’re getting my help anyway whether you think you deserve it or not. And you do deserve it, so suck it up. I’ll expect you here in time for dinner.”

Dean gave one last try, one last excuse, and said, “Jody, I’m hurt.”

“Then Alex can fix you up.” He opened his mouth to argue that he was already stitched up and there wasn’t much else to be done, but she added, “ _Properly_. I know how you boys are with your half-assed hunter medical care, and it’s not gonna cut it this time. You’re gonna get your ass over here, and we’re gonna help you.”

He sighed and then nodded, giving in. Jody was right. He didn’t want to be in the bunker anymore, not when Sam wasn’t here. He didn’t want to be stuck with a depressed demon, and he knew Castiel was disapproving of how he was taking care of himself. Castiel seemed antsy himself, like he had the urge to be useful, to do something, and there was something buried beneath that as well, guilt that Dean didn’t yet understand.

“Can I bring Castiel?” he asked eventually.

“Of course you can,” she told him, her tone suddenly soft. “I’d love to meet him.”

“Okay, okay. Thanks, Jody. I’ll… I’ll see you soon.”

“I’d better.”

Despite everything, Dean smiled as he responded, “You will.”

They said their goodbyes, and he looked to Crowley who was now just chugging the scotch Dean had grabbed for himself.

_Yeah, it’ll be good to get away._

He stood up with a groan to go tell Castiel they were leaving.

 

Sam didn’t understand what Rowena was saying, but he had watched anxiously as she’d carved into Ivan’s torso. His slave had whimpered and groaned through it, but hadn’t all out screamed, and that helped calm Sam a little. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt that badly. But it did look like Ivan was trying to hold in how much it hurt as his blood ran out over his skin and onto the dirty, moth-eaten sheet on the mattress beneath him. He supposed that was a difference between the two of them. After years and years of torture Sam had learned that it was just better to let it out, and had learned there was no shame in it either.

Rowena rubbed his chest a bit fondly when she turned to him, and nodded her head reassuringly. Sam clenched his jaw and nodded back, and then looked back to the ceiling, trying to count how many wooden panels were whole rather than focusing on the knife.

It entered his skin just under his collarbone, and he cried out. Soon, the blade was crisscrossing along his sternum, and he was clutching the mattress as he shook. All his instincts were screaming that he had to fight her, that he had to get up and run.

But no, he couldn’t do that.

_The wooden panels. Count the wooden panels._

There was one directly above him that was cracked, a chunk missing, and it drew his attention more. The knife sliced through his abdomen, and his throat started hurting, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his heart began to race. When he tried to twist away from the knife, Rowena put a hand on his hip. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him in place, but her firm grip reminded him to stay as still as possible. He tried taking in a deep breath, but it was shaky, and on the exhale he let out a wordless shout. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. This didn’t seem fair. It felt like Rowena was putting more symbols into him than she had with Ivan. Then again, it did make sense. He was the one with the amulet after all.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and threw his head back, gritting his teeth as a growling noise left his throat.

He forgot all about his tactic for trying to weather through this, and he tried to start counting to ten instead. When that failed he started repeating over and over, _Can’t attack her. Can’t attack her. Can’t attack her._

He was starting to wish that he’d asked to be tied down for this, otherwise he wouldn’t have to fight himself so much.

He couldn’t hear Rowena over his screams, and something about the knife sizzled, as if Ivan’s blood that had been on it was burning him.

Then, he felt pressure against the amulet on his chest, blinding light shot through the room, something he could see even with his eyes closed, and then Sam was falling, landing on something soft.

The burning and stinging faded and he opened his eyes.

He was in a forest, tall trees of larch, fir, and pine shooting up to the sky. They were spread apart, as if the forest had been thinned as it was used for logging. Snow fell from the sky, and he reached out his hand to catch a snowflake in his palm. It went right through it. He looked down, thinking he’d see himself sinking into the snow, but instead he was on top of it, as if he wasn’t actually there. The amulet pulsed weakly, the energy making a note that was low and deep thrum outwards from it, and the blue-white light lit up the dark around him.

Sam got to his feet, saw that he was still shirtless and still had the symbols cut into him, except here they didn’t bleed. He recognized some of the symbols, especially after looking them over again and again the moments he was alone, some of the times when he couldn’t sleep, and they were now seared into his memory. They were the ones on the amulet.

Then, he heard something, it was quiet and stifled, as if it was being choked out, and it was muffled by the snow blanketing the ground and clinging to the bark of the trees and the thick branches. There was a weak, golden glow ahead of him like candlelight, maybe coming from a house of some sort, and the sound seemed to be from that direction. Sam went towards it, and when he rounded a tree just a few feet away, he realized what he was hearing - it was a baby crying, and as he crouched down to take in the features of the incredibly tiny infant - the thin lips that were now turning blue, the pale skin, the big, blue eyes, the little fuzz of brown hair - he saw that that baby was Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yep! Looks like Jody is going to make a physical appearance in this story after all. Someone's gotta straighten Sam and Dean out 'cause it's almost been 150,000 words and they haven't done it on their own. (Well, only Dean will really get straightened out a bit, but he needs it or else he's going to go from a functioning alcoholic to a blackout drunk alcoholic pretty quick). Having Jody show up might change some things for the sequel that I originally had planned, but I'll work it out.


	50. Ivan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam sees Ivan's dark past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long for this story, which is one of the reasons it took so long to get out. Been working on other writing projects and participating in SPN Hiatus Creations, so I'm sad to say it hasn't been at the front of my mind. This chapter is much different from the other chapters and it required hours of research and planning, so I hope you all enjoy it. This chapter is pretty dark, but I do my best to make sure it's not graphic since that wouldn't quite fit the tone of this story at the moment.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter contains mentions of pedophilia, mentions of rape, abuse, and incest.

Sam’s immediate response was to pick up the baby, to hold him and keep him warm. He didn’t care that this was the monster that had tethered himself to him. Right now he was just a baby, and he was freezing to death. Sam knew without many clothes of his own he didn’t have much heat to offer, but maybe his body heat would help. He had to try. He leaned down and reached out for the baby, and his hand slipped right through him.

Stunned, Sam tried again and with the same effect. Even though the snow falling through him and the lack of footprints should be evidence enough, Sam wanted to truly test this, so he held out his palm to press it against the rough bark of the fir tree Ivan lay under. His hand went through it, and if he had added any weight to it he would’ve fallen.

He supposed it made sense. These were Ivan’s memories, and Sam had never actually been here, so he couldn’t have any physical effect on the world around him. It was only real in Ivan’s soul.

Sam looked down at Ivan again, who was still crying, his scrawny body shuddering weakly. He wished he could help him somehow.

But Ivan had made it through this, so as much as it pained Sam he resolved himself to just watch. That was all he could do, even though his muscles were tense, energy jumping through him from the urge to do something.

Sam didn’t like just watching, didn’t like that he couldn’t help someone, and at times that had often extended to himself.

The sound of plodding crunches caught his attention, and he turned towards the sound in the dark night, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself as some sort of shield.

At first there was just a shadow, but through the swirling snow he could eventually make out a figure as it came closer. It was a man, shorter than Sam, but wider, thick fur clothes making up part of his bulk. A dead deer rested over his shoulders, its coat dusted with white. The man had a thick, pale beard and his cold-reddened face was set in distress. He could hear Ivan crying.

Sam wondered what he was going to do with him, if this was the man Ivan would find a home with, or if he would pass him by and another person might come along. That seemed unlikely. It was late, and Ivan didn’t have much time left, his voice now just a faint whimper.

The man rounded the tree, Sam backing up to make room for him, and then his blue eyes set on Ivan.

“Come on,” Sam pleaded quietly. “Pick him up. Pick him up.”

He didn’t know why he wanted Ivan to live, but in his mind this baby was very different from the monster he’d become.

The man shifted the deer to one shoulder, and then reached down and picked up the crying bundle.

“You poor thing. How did you get all the way out here?”

Sam was surprised he could understand him because from what he could tell from the man’s clothing he was probably somewhere in pre-medieval Europe, and somewhere northern.

Russia, maybe? The Netherlands?

Maybe the spell was translating things for him. Or maybe Ivan understood the language, so Sam did now, too, at least while in his memories.

The man made room for Ivan in his heavy fur coat, the length of which went down to his knees. And then he headed off at a quicker pace than that at which he’d arrived, Sam following along behind him.

They walked at least two miles before they left the trees, emerging into a valley. Sam saw blots of thicker, more physical darkness than the night around them, and figured he was looking at buildings. Approaching the structures, Sam became overwhelmed with the thick, musty scent of farm animals, and the sweet stench of their manure. He could make out more of the buildings and structures now, which were enclosed in a rickety fence. The man rounded the fence and opened the gate with a loud creak. As it began to close, Sam instinctively grabbed for it. His hand went through the rough-looking wood as the gate clacked shut.

Feeling like a ghost, as he had in his trip to the veil a few years ago, Sam walked through the gate. After dropping the deer in the snow, the baby his first priority, the man went into what must’ve been a house, and Sam followed. He spotted cattle and sheep off to his left, nestled in hay, asleep, seemingly impervious to the cold.

“Lada,” he called into the one-story building. It looked like it was built of wood and held together with twine and what might’ve been mud. Sam followed him inside, feeling like he was intruding. “Lada, wake up.”

There was a yawn, and then Sam heard a woman, her soft voice sounding the complete opposite of the man’s gruff one: “Matvei, you’re home. I tried to wait up for you.”

_So Russia,_ Sam realized from their names.

A lamp was lit, Matvei handed Ivan off to Lada with an explanation that he’d found him on his way back from hunting.

They talked about the baby, throwing questions back and forth at each other that neither of them could answer, as they set about taking care of him. Matvei started a fire in a wood and brick structure that Sam thought was maybe an oven, and after piling rounded stones into it he took a bowl outside to collect some snow. It was a large bowl, more than big enough to fit Ivan, who looked like he might only weigh three pounds. Sam hadn’t seen a lot of newborn babies in his life, but he knew babies weren’t supposed to be that small. Maybe he’d been abandoned because of his size.

Lada held Ivan in one arm as she shook someone in the left corner of the house awake. Sam had been so focused on Ivan he hadn’t realized anyone else was there.

There was a childish whine in protest.

“Vadim, up.”

“No.”

“Vadim, this is not the time for disobedience. Up. Your papa found a baby, and we need help with him.”

The boy, Vadim, sat up at that, not even bothering to rub the sleep from his eyes. In the lantern light Sam saw that he was about four, with a pale, pudgy face, and light, curly hair. He looked at Ivan, still sleepy, probably wondering if this was some odd dream. Sam expected to see distaste from Vadim, as he knew most children didn’t like the idea of someone younger and cuter being around.

Instead he asked, unable to take his eyes off him, “What do you need?”

Matvei came back in with the bowl and set it near the oven as Lada answered, “Hold them. I’m going to fetch milk from the storehouse.”

They took care of Ivan, Lada feeding him while Matvei got a bath ready for him. Once he was warm and fed, bundled up in small, dry clothes, he looked healthier, his skin pink, his eyes bright, and curious.

“Can we keep him?” Vadim asked, looking in at the baby Lada held in her arms. “I want a brother.”

“Lada?” Matvei questioned, deferring to his wife for this.

“We have to,” she responded. “It will be difficult since our crop yield was bad this past growing season, but I couldn’t dream of abandoning him. Whoever did was a monster.”

Vadim no longer looked tired, kicking his leg where he sat against the bed.

“We’ll name him Ivan, after my father,” Matvei decided.

“Ivan, yes,” Lada agreed. “I like that.”

“Hello, Ivan,” Vadim said excitedly, waving his hand close to his face.

Ivan grabbed for Vadim’s fingers, gurgling happily, and the boy smiled at him.

 

Time was different within the memories of Ivan’s soul. To Sam it seemed to move fast and slow all at once, dragging even as it sped ahead. The year after they found Ivan, Lada gave birth to a girl they named Veronika. She had the same dark eyes as her mother.

It felt as though years had passed, and yet, only a few minutes as Sam watched the children grow up. He watched Ivan get baptized in a small church a few miles from their farm, and then Veronika after him. He watched him learn to talk and walk, how to do certain chores around the farm. As Sam watched he grew used to the animal smell and it didn’t bother him as much as it had the night Ivan had been found.

Ivan was close with both his siblings, and Vadim was ever the protective older brother. He’d help Ivan with his chores so they could finish early and go off into the town, or into the woods together to explore. Often, Ivan would bring back interesting rocks he found and give them to Veronika, and she kept them, even when Sam could tell she wasn’t very impressed.

When Ivan was maybe around nine years old, and Vadim thirteen, Vadim started sneaking out while his family was asleep.

Sam wondered what a thirteen year old could be up to in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t follow him to find out. He only saw it because sometimes Ivan would be awake, watching his brother with his big eyes, but remaining silent.

On one occasion, when Sam figured it was the shortest night of the year and the air was comfortable and dry, Ivan tried to follow Vadim, but he grew weak from the long walk and had to turn back.

Really, it was a short walk, but as Ivan grew up he exhibited health problems. Sam figured he knew the name for one of them, whereas any such thing was a mystery to people of this time. As far as Sam could tell Ivan had asthma, and maybe some other issues. Some days he just needed to rest and grew easily fatigued. Matvei seemed discouraged by it, wanting Ivan to grow big and strong, but he seemed to have eventually seen that it wasn’t possible, and that his adopted son would remain scrawny.

Nearly a year after Vadim began to sneak out at night Veronika fell ill. She had a fever and was weak and always cold, and she complained of feeling like she had something stuck in her throat. Matvei was gone on an extended hunting and fishing expedition, and Lada had to stay to take care of Veronika, so Ivan and Vadim were tasked with traveling to a city called Novgorod to get her some medicine.

Sam felt Ivan’s deep worry for Veronika as if it were his own, and maybe some of it was. He’d found himself growing attached to this family, and an empty, hurt part of him longed for a family of his own. Those feelings shocked him, sometimes brought startled tears to his eyes. He had thought he had pushed all that down, pretended those desires had never existed, and forced himself to be ashamed of the times they had.

But as he walked behind Ivan and Vadim on the seldom-traveled dirt road through the thick, green woods, part of him felt like a father watching over them.

And some other part of him felt like a father leaving behind his sick daughter, knowing for certain that she was going to die.

The two boys had packs, and whenever Ivan stumbled or had to sit down by the road to catch his breath, Sam wanted to help carry it for him.

Vadim eventually did.

“Can we go slower?” Ivan asked once they’d been walking awhile; two hours had gone by since lunch.

“No. Veronika will not get better on her own. She needs medicine, as soon as possible.”

“I… need medicine,” Ivan wheezed out half-heartedly, trudging along, head hanging. His words weren’t entirely despondent, sounded more like an attempt at a joke.

Ivan had been falling behind, but Vadim went back to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Come on. We’ll make it.”

“If you say so.”

They walked on a little longer, and at one point Ivan sat down, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Sam sat down next to him, wishing he could at least rub his back. He also wanted to call out to Vadim, who was still walking, and soon he couldn’t be seen through the underbrush or thick trees.

Sam saw self-doubt on Ivan’s small face, and he knew he was thinking he probably should’ve stayed home.

A twig snapped up ahead, and Sam, some part of him still not used to being unable to help, got to his feet, hands out defensively. Ivan seemed too tired to notice someone was approaching.

He let out a breath when he realized it was just Vadim.

“Ivan, are you coming?”

“Go on without me.”

“No, no. I can’t do that.”

He came over and sat down beside his brother, rummaging through his pack.

“Drink some water,” he urged.

Ivan nodded and then took his water skin from his pack, letting himself have a small sip.

“More,” Vadim ordered.

“What if I run out?”

“Then you can have mine.”

Ivan let himself have a bit more, but still not too much, probably trying to keep his brother from having to sacrifice his own.

“Aha!” Vadim exclaimed, Ivan’s eyes widening from being startled, but otherwise feeling too sick to move. Still, he tilted his head towards Vadim, watched as he pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle out of his pack. “I was going to save this as a surprise for later,” Vadim told him, opening it up and revealing little golden-brown balls, a sweet smell wafting from them, “but you can have some now.”

_Chak-chak,_ Sam thought just as Ivan found the air to exclaim the words. Sam had been with them long enough to start learning the names of things, and he knew this dessert was well liked by both boys. From what Sam could tell it was balls of crusty bread that had been fried and then drenched in honey.

Vadim gave a portion to Ivan and had none for himself. And after making sure Ivan had more water, they set off again.

For nearly a week the boys continued on their journey, hunting when they could so they wouldn’t have to ration their food, using dead trees to make temporary shelters. On one of the days, it rained, but they kept on, sloshing through the mud.

They’d play games to keep their spirits up, which included an early form of I Spy, and a contest to see who could throw a rock further along the road. Sometimes when Ivan wasn’t feeling so sick, they’d sing - songs that Sam had gotten used to, but still didn’t like. Neither of the boys were very adept at carrying a tune, either. That was all their sister. Sometimes Vadim would tell Ivan stories, or they’d try and come up with a story together. Ivan’s stories tended to be all over the place, but they were still fun to listen to.

When they’d been walking silently for a while, Ivan asked, “Where do you go?”

“What do you mean?” he laughed out. “I’m right here.”

“No. At home when you sneak out at night, where do you go?”

Sam hadn’t been paying attention, and neither had Ivan or Vadim, because they were all startled when a large man with a black tattoo on his left cheek, and bulging arms bare due to the sleeveless fur vest he wore, stepped out into the middle of the road, blocking them. He wielded an axe, and the three other men that stepped into the road also held weapons, one a dagger, another a sword, and the final man a club. They were all about Sam’s size, the one with the tattoo even bigger.

Ivan and Vadim let out startled cries, and Vadim pushed Ivan behind him, throwing his arms out.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“Get their packs,” the tattooed man ordered the other three.

Forgetting himself for a second, Sam let out a yell and lunged at the man who was clearly the leader, only to fall right through him and onto the ground.

The injuries that were ever-present on his bare torso should have twinged and ached from the impact, but there was nothing, hardly any pressure against him, just the rich smell of earth in his nose.

One of the men stepped through him, which was still a jarring experience, and he went after the boys. Since Vadim had been carrying both the packs that day, Ivan was picked up and tossed aside as if he weighed nothing. The boy let out a cry, which was cut short as he whacked into a tree and the air was knocked out of him. Sam felt anger build in him as he fell to the ground, dazed. He was up on his feet now, over by Ivan though he couldn’t do a single thing.

The bandits were roughing up Vadim, who refused to give up the packs.

Ivan tried getting up.

“Ivan, stay down!” Vadim cried, and was then punched in the face for speaking.

“Shut your mouth,” the man with the dagger said. He now had ahold of the back of Vadim’s long tunic, and Vadim struggled to get away.

Then, the boy went limp and dropped the packs. The men laughed, seemingly finding it amusing that he’d given up fighting. Sam was shocked too, thought Vadim would keep fighting since he knew they could die without their packs, especially now since they were hurt.

Vadim suddenly threw out his hands and yelled a word Sam didn’t understand, but it sounded old, and even though he couldn’t feel temperatures in these memories it sent a chill through him.

The men went hurtling backwards, like some god-like force had commanded it so. And Sam realized that was exactly what was happening, except there was no involvement from God in this.

Vadim was using magic.

Once they’d picked themselves up off the ground, the bandits gave Vadim wary looks. The boy still had his hands outstretched, fire in his eyes, and the blood on his face – though it was his own – made him look frightening.

“Go,” he commanded.

The bandits hurriedly grabbed their weapons and disappeared into the trees.

Vadim let out a long breath and ran to Ivan, helping him up.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I bumped my head,” he answered. “Getting thrown against a tree hurts.”

“Yes, I’m sure it does. Can you keep walking?”

Ivan nodded, winced, put a hand to his head, and then pointed at Vadim’s face. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, eyes searching the trees, Sam now doing the same even though he couldn’t warn them if an attack was coming.

“How did you do that?” Ivan eventually asked.

“Magic.”

“Magic?”

“It’s why I have been sneaking out of the house. A few seasons ago, when I couldn’t sleep, I heard a noise outside, so I went to see what it was.”

“What was it?”

“A man. There was a man at the gate, smaller than Papa, and he was dressed funny, wearing only a robe. We talked. He told me he could offer me power, so I took it.”

“Why?”

A shrug. “If someone told you you could do things you had never dreamed of, would you not accept?”

“I suppose,” Ivan responded. He seemed troubled by this revelation and he eventually asked, “How did he do it?”

“I would rather not say,” Vadim immediately snapped.

Ivan clutched at his arm, still seeming close to his brother, even after the power he’d displayed.

“Come on, tell me,” he urged.

“No.”

“I’ll tell Mama and Papa.”

“He kissed me,” Vadim immediately answered.

Disgust curled Sam’s stomach, and he saw it written all over Ivan’s face.

“Like Mama and Papa?”

Vadim solemnly nodded.

“Ew.”

“Now, let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Ivan seemed to be burning with questions, but he was still processing what his brother had told him, so he seemed happy the conversation had ended.

Sam had had a creeping sense of dread while listening to the conversation, and hearing of Vadim getting…

No, he couldn’t think about it.

But one thing was abundantly clear.

Vadim had sold his soul.

 

The next day the boys made it to the city. It was still small by modern comparison, but some of the buildings were made of stone and were much more impressive than the village they lived near. The city was near a lake, and ships of all size and shape were coming in to port, suggesting that the glistening lake was the headwater of at least a couple of rivers. The ships seemed to be trading ships, loaded with goods. The boys didn’t go down to the harbor, but they stopped and watched in amazement for a couple of minutes, able to see the ships from a stone bridge.

As they walked they gazed up at the people around them. Sam recognized the long robes of the Slavs, some of them finer than those that Ivan’s family wore, and he saw Vadim give an appraising glance to some of the girls his age who still wore a _nenchik_ \- thin bands of metal or fabric around their heads - suggesting they were unmarried.

There were others there as well, their clothes of a different design that made Sam think of _The Lord of the Rings_. The word _Rus_ was tossed around a bit, and he began to piece together that they were Vikings, or whatever the Vikings had actually called themselves. He wasn’t sure, hadn’t studied that part of history. They seemed pretty settled in Novgorod, and many of the Slavs were comfortable with their presence. As Sam saw more people, saw families and couples who seemed to be a mix of Slavs and Rus, he figured the Rus had been there for quite some time, might have even established the trading.

There were some other different kinds of people as well, and Sam instantly labeled them as Greek, and they were probably there for trading. It was an interesting, colorful place, with banners and store signs and all different kinds of dress, but Ivan and Vadim still had a job to do.

They wandered for a bit, Ivan suggesting they ask for directions, but Vadim seemed unwilling to, wanting to do this on his own.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, going from street to street, they found the apothecary.

Sam didn’t bother to follow them inside. He no longer felt like a guardian, though he still had the urge to protect those children. Being left unable to do anything when they’d been attacked by bandits had crushed him.

He could watch them grow up, watch them triumph, watch them struggle, but he couldn’t do anything more.

Ivan and Vadim left the building with solemn faces, tears in their eyes.

And they began to trek home without the medicine their sister needed.

 

Getting home took them longer since they had to use a less-traveled path in order to avoid a mother bear and her two cubs.

Sam had been startled by the bears, but the two boys had calmly observed them and then stayed out of their way.

What part of the sky Sam could see through the trees was gray for most of the journey, but it didn’t rain. It felt like the tears both boys were holding at bay.

They didn’t want to give up hope just yet.

But Sam knew.

Veronika had just been so sick, and even with the medicine he wasn’t sure she’d make it.

So once the boys finally made it home, he stayed outside as it began to rain, not wanting to feel like an intruder on a private moment.

He heard distressed and saddened wails, and then Ivan was running out of the house. Vadim began to follow, tears streaking his cheeks, his bottom lip trembling, but Lada, her dark eyes red and puffy, held him close to her.

“Ivan!” the boy called out.

“Let him go.”

Ivan didn’t go far, just about twenty feet into the tree line to the north. He sat himself down on a rock, not caring that it was wet, or that he was getting wet, and he cried.

Sam sat down beside him, crossing his legs, and the rain fell right through him.

He didn’t know why, but he began to talk, and the sound of his voice was strange, yet familiar to him within these memories - he hadn’t spoken since urging Matvei to pick up Ivan in the snow a decade ago: “Ivan, I know this is hard, and I know you’re hurting, and I know exactly what you’re feeling. But you still have your mom and dad. You still have Vadim.” _For now,_ Sam added to himself. “You’re not alone, okay? And… and even though you won’t know this, I’m here too. And I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, and that I couldn’t stop this from happening.

“I know that, in the future, you hurt me, you force me into something that I don’t want. And I hated you for it. I hated you for everything, even when it wasn’t you who caused me all this pain. You were my scapegoat, and I wanted you to die.

“But watching you grow up… I don’t know, it’s changed me. I know that somehow, that monster you become, it’s not you. I’m scared for you, Ivan. Really scared. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I wish this wasn’t true, but somehow, things are going to get worse, and I can’t protect you.”

The boy’s sobs had quieted and he sniffled. He turned to Sam, his dark hair plastered to his face, and for a second Sam thought he was looking right at him. But then his gaze drifted away and he hugged his knees to his chest, still crying.

 

In some ways, things did get worse. Ivan drifted away from Vadim, and Vadim grew prone to angry outbursts, which only weakened his attempts to grow close to his brother again.

After finishing his chores, Ivan would spend time in the village, and he became friends with a flaxen-haired boy named Mihail. There was also a girl he seemed to be growing close to, Alina. Their first few interactions were awkward and left Ivan blushing, but he would excitedly tell Mihail about her. Sometimes he’d have similar interactions with Mihail as well, and Sam figured Ivan had a crush on both of them.

Meanwhile, Lada and Matvei were pressuring Vadim to find a girl to marry, but he didn’t seem interested. Losing Veronika, the pressure from his parents, and the magic seemed to take its toll on his mental state. He spent more and more time alone, and when he wasn’t alone, he was pestering Ivan. He teased him, and not in the way an older brother would a younger brother. It was mean, and Sam could see how much it hurt. He hurt right along with him, wishing there was something he could do.

Neither of them brought up the topic of Vadim’s magic, but Ivan saw him practicing when their parents weren’t watching, and he was clearly uncomfortable.

Two years had passed since Veronika’s death, and Ivan and Vadim had the day off from chores. Ivan had been heading off to the village alone – bundled in a thick coat since the crisp air soon promised the first snowfall of the season – when Vadim wrapped an arm around his shoulders, deciding to tag along.

They argued, Ivan trying to push Vadim away, but his brother was older and stronger than him, so he had to give in after a few attempts. Vadim had a smile on his pale face that made Sam uncomfortable.

“Don’t be so saddened,” Vadim told him. “I just want to show you something.”

“What?”

“You will see.”

He led him along the road, through the trees, and then into another valley. They came upon a farm, one Sam recognized from the few times Ivan had passed by there.

“What are we doing here, Vadim? This is Leonid Pavelovich’s property. He’s mean.”

“Exactly. Thought it was time someone put him in his place.”

“No.”

Vadim ignored him, just dragged Ivan along.

Sam watched as Vadim knocked on the man’s door. He answered, an argument ensued, Leonid went to punch Vadim in the stomach, Vadim dodged, and Ivan took the blow against the side of his head. The boy stumbled, but didn’t fall. Now Vadim grew angry from that, twisted the situation to make it seem like Leonid had gone after Ivan.

Words of power were spoken in that old language Vadim used for all his spells, and then there were bloody slashes on Leonid’s burly forearms, and the man was screaming.

Vadim smirked, grabbed Ivan and walked away.

“You didn’t have to do that!” he cried once they were back on the road.

Vadim answered simply, “He hurt you.”

Ivan pulled himself from Vadim’s grip, and then slapped his hand away when he tried reaching for him.

“No, he was trying to hurt _you_.” He pointed to the red bump on his head. “This is your fault.”

“Ivan, don’t be ridiculous.”

“No.” Vadim reached for him again, this time grabbing the back of his coat. He continued walking, making Ivan stumble along. “Let me go! _Let me go!_ ”

Iva was smacking him now, but Vadim ignored it.

“What is with you lately?” he asked.

“I do not like you using magic.”

Vadim stopped, but he didn’t let go of his younger brother.

“You don’t?” he asked, suddenly looking so young and far from malicious.

“No, I do not,” Ivan declared. “It scares me.”

“But, Ivan, I did this for you.”

“What are you talking about?” he questioned, face scrunched up in confusion.

“I wanted to be able to protect you,” Vadim admitted. “You’re just so small, and-and sick, and I wanted to be strong enough for the both of us.”

Ivan wrenched himself away from Vadim, and turned his back on him, sniffling as he crossed his arms.

“Y-you idiot,” he told him. “You already were. You do not need your stupid magic.”

“Yes, I do.”

“If…” Ivan closed his eyes, swallowed roughly, and then faced Vadim, meeting and holding his gaze, his own filled with steel. “If you think that,” he began, words stone cold, “then you are not my brother.”

Hurt raged in Vadim’s bright eyes, and Sam saw it build beneath his features.

“Good!” he shouted. “Because I’m _not_ your brother. I never was.”

Ivan had seemed so sure of his stinging words, but now he looked taken aback, and he didn’t want to believe him.

“What?”

“You heard me. You. Are. Not. My. Brother. Papa found you abandoned in the snow, and we took you in. We took you in out of pity. You were so small and pathetic. And you still are. Whoever left you out there had the right idea. Papa should have just let you die.”

With those poisonous words said Vadim stomped off.

Ivan began to cry, and Sam’s heart hurt. He wished he could hug him, tell him everything was going to be all right.

But he couldn’t hug him.

And he’d by lying.

 

Ivan scarcely talked to his family after that day. When not doing his chores, he spent more and more time with Mihail and Alina. The three of them were close friends now, and when Ivan turned fourteen he and Alina began to date. Well, they used the word _courting_.

Sam was happy for Ivan, often smiled when he saw his moments with Alina. The two were close, though Ivan kept his family problems a secret. Sam didn’t blame him. Having a rough home life had always felt like carrying around some burden that you couldn’t let others see for fear they’d turn and run.

It was mid-Spring, the ground still wet from melting snow, and Ivan and Alina were going for a walk, hands clasped tightly together and swinging in between them.

Ivan led the slender girl, who was taller than him at this point, off the path and into a swath of birch-aspen and pine trees. Both of them were laughing, and she threw her red hair over her shoulders. Sam smiled, looking away when the two of them began to make out, still laughing in between kisses.

Then, he started when he saw Vadim coming from the valley. Ivan, who had been pushed against a tree by Alina, had yet to notice.

A twig snapped beneath Vadim’s foot, and Ivan and Alina broke away from each other, heads turning in the direction the sound had come from.

Ivan’s face darkened, eyebrows lowering.

“Vadim, did you follow us?” Ivan asked, an accusation already in his words.

“Yes,” he answered honestly, stepping closer.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Just get out of here, Vadim,” Alina said, putting herself between him and Ivan.

Vadim laughed. “Too weak, Ivan? You need a girl protecting you?”

Alina shoved Vadim, and once he regained his footing he grabbed her wrist, knuckles turning white from how tight his grip was. She didn’t make a sound, just glared daggers at the older boy. He dragged her closer, his face an inch from hers.

“Stay away from my brother,” he hissed.

“Go to Hell,” she retorted, voice quavering slightly.

_Oh, trust me,_ Sam thought, _he’ll get there eventually._ A few minutes ago, or a few years ago - Sam couldn’t tell anymore - that thought had saddened him, but now he felt Vadim deserved it.

Vadim raised his other hand, and Ivan ran up and grabbed him.

“No! Alina, just go home. Please.”

She looked at Ivan, saw the terror and desperation in his blue eyes, and then she relaxed her stance, but fire remained in her gaze. Vadim released her, and she ran off, Ivan looking after her, even once her dress faded through the trees.

“I thought I wasn’t your brother,” Ivan shot at him, still facing away from Vadim.

“You’re not,” he responded, circling him. “But we have to keep up appearances. Now, I don’t want you seeing her again.” He made this declaration while standing right in front of him, towering over him.

“You’re just jealous because you haven’t found a girl who’s dumb enough to marry you.”

“I wish it were that, but that slut shouldn’t be wearing a _nenchik_.”

Ivan glowered at him, but he still seemed so small, and really, his anger probably didn’t mean much to Vadim. Sam figured the only thing keeping him from hurting the younger boy at the moment was the fact that he didn’t want to.

Vadim went on, knowing Ivan was too stubborn to ask what he meant, “I caught her with the blacksmith’s son. She’s no maiden.”

“You lie!”

“Maybe, but now the doubt is there.”

Ivan forced his way past him, bumping into him as he did so. Vadim laughed.

 

Ivan continued to see Alina, being more careful now, but he was hesitant, unsure. Sam wished he could tell the boy to ask her about what Vadim had said, to talk to her. Alina began to grow distant, and then one day she told Ivan she would be leaving, heading to Novgorod. A Rus who lived there had proposed to her, and his father, a textile merchant, was far richer than Ivan’s family, so she had agreed.

Distraught, Ivan went to Vadim.

Sam was confused when he saw only sadness in Vadim’s face. Something was off. He had expected the young man to be angry that Ivan had continued to see Alina against his wishes. Maybe he was, but was just hiding it to get a certain reaction from Ivan.

He pulled Ivan into a hug, and the younger boy was doing his best to not cry. They were behind the house, and Vadim had been chopping firewood. Sam eyed the axe nervously, some part of him worried that Vadim would suddenly get violent.

“Why are you comforting me?” Ivan asked, still hugging him, probably pretending things were as they had used to be.

“Because I love you.”

“But we’re not brothers.”

Vadim pulled out of the hug and caressed Ivan’s cheek.

“No, we’re not.”

Snow began to fall from the dark sky as Vadim kissed Ivan.

And Sam turned away, clenching his jaw as his eyes slid closed. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Someone who had been Ivan’s brother, not in blood but in bond, someone who now abused him, someone who was more powerful than him, had kissed him.

He heard no protest from Ivan, and Sam knew it was because he was too afraid.

And yet there was still more evil to come.

 

A few years passed, Vadim secretly courting Ivan in that time, and he threatened him every time he swore he’d tell their parents. People in the village began to stay away from them, finding it odd they hadn’t yet married. The few times they went to Novgorod, the Rus suggested they were homosexual. Sam wished it was just that, wished that Ivan wasn’t suffering. Lada and Matvei had given up trying to get them married, and while they still attempted to spend time with the hurting and closed off Ivan, they almost seemed frightened of Vadim. The young man did exude a dark aura, even without the awful things he’d done being known.

Ivan’s only joy came from Mihail. He was the one person who hadn’t pushed Ivan away, who Ivan hadn’t pushed away. And despite being married now, Mihail seemed to be attracted to Ivan, had admitted to being homosexual.

His wife Svetlana knew. She didn’t care. They had been close friends for a while now and she was fine with the idea of Mihail seeing men. In fact, Mihail had told Ivan she seemed put off entirely by the idea of romantic and sexual relationships. Sam understood that feeling well. He used to not, used to be what everyone seemed to consider normal, but he hadn’t been that way for years.

Despite what Mihail told him of the truth of his relationship with his wife, there was still guilt from Ivan the times he and Mihail would hold each other. Sam knew it was from Vadim’s disgusting abuse.

And then the abuse grew worse.

At night Vadim would drag a sleepy, but protesting Ivan into the woods. The first night he’d done so Sam had had the horrible feeling that he’d been going to rape him, but he hadn’t.

Instead he did spells, restraining Ivan on the ground with ropes and thick, heavy spikes he drove through the earth. And Ivan was gagged so no one could hear his screams.

Sam didn’t know what the spells did, didn’t understand the ancient language and symbols that were different from the spellwork he’d seen and used. But he understood pain, and he saw it in every muscles of Ivan’s body, saw it when Vadim cut him and used his blood.

Sam wanted to kill Vadim, and he wanted to hold Ivan. He wanted to at least tell someone, get them to help the boy he now saw as his son after having witnessed every moment of his life up to these atrocities.

Watching him grow up had brought a longing out in him, and that longing had twisted into an ache. With nothing to do with his anger, his pain, he cried. He didn’t like crying, but being stuck in these memories like this, he simply had nothing else to do.

He wanted to heal Ivan’s wounds, somehow erase the agonies Vadim put in his body. He wanted to hold him and keep him safe from the world.

But he couldn’t.

And little by little, Ivan seemed to begin losing his will.

He talked back less, he obeyed Vadim more, and he no longer went to see Mihail as often as he used to. And still Vadim kept up with what could only be experiments, and afterwards he would kiss and caress Ivan, making Sam feel light-headed and like someone was punching him in the stomach.

At one point Vadim disappeared for a few days, saying he had things to do, but with no other explanation. Ivan just let him go.

And then he went to stay with Mihail and Svetlana for some time.

They were as kind to him as always and Sam teared up, when, over dinner of buttered bread, cheese, and beef, he saw Ivan smile again. It was the first in a long time.

Once Mihail and Ivan had helped Svetlana clean up from the meal, Mihail suggested he and Ivan go on a walk.

When they were making their way out of the gate Mihail asked, “What is wrong, Ivan?”

“Oh, what? Um… Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”

Mihail slipped his hand into Ivan’s, intertwining their fingers, and Ivan looked down where they were touching.

With the light of the full moon and the lantern they’d taken with them Sam could see both of them were blushing. They looked so young like that, and really, they were only seventeen.

“Ivan, I have known you for awhile now, and you’ve changed. You’re quieter, scarcely meet people in the eye while speaking, and you don’t visit me as much as you used to.”

“It is nothing. Just family trouble.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Mihail made Ivan face him and urged, “Please, you can talk to me.”

He stroked Ivan’s cheek as Ivan looked down, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please,” Sam pleaded though Ivan couldn’t hear him. “You have to tell someone.”

Sam knew he was a hypocrite for saying that, but he didn’t care at the moment, only cared about Ivan.

“Vadim, he… he hurts me. And he…”

Mihail held his face in both hands now, having placed the lamp down on the ground. A tear rolled down Ivan’s cheek.

“It is all right, Ivan. You can tell me.”

“He… kisses me.”

There was only silence between them. Not even breathing could be heard; just the sounds of the night and a wolf’s baleful howl.

“It’s fine,” Ivan went on, still refusing to look at Mihail. “We’re not brothers.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Ma- Lada, she never gave birth to me. Matvei found me in the woods one night, brought me back to her.”

“And they told you this?” Mihail asked, thumbs rubbing over Ivan’s cheekbones.

“Vadim did.”

“And you believe him?”

Ivan lifted his head up then, met the larger man’s gaze. Whatever was in his eyes was answer enough for Mihail.

He pulled him into a hug, one hand gently resting in his hair, as he murmured, “Ivan, I’m so sorry.”

Ivan said nothing, just held him as if he never wanted to let go.

And he didn’t let go, even when Mihail kissed him. Ivan kissed back, and Sam smiled sadly, drawing his eyes away to give them privacy.

Out in the darkness he saw a lone figure, as tall as Vadim, and something told Sam that it was him. Fear for Ivan and Mihail froze his blood. But the figure walked away.

 

Sam watched, utterly helpless and hurting, as Ivan went home to be met with Vadim. Lada was away in the village and Matvei was out in the fields, so they didn’t see as Vadim used magic to change Ivan’s will into his own.

He had Ivan kill Mihail, had Ivan clean up afterwards, and Ivan couldn’t remember any of it, only knew that his love was dead.

It seemed impossible, but the boy grew even quieter, and the days he bathed Sam saw his hair falling out as he ran his hands through it. He had more and more days where he had trouble breathing, but when he was allowed he still did his best to leave the farm.

On one of those days he ran into Leonid and started with fear, maybe remembering the day Vadim had hurt him.

Sam didn’t know why, but Leonid looked into Ivan’s aged eyes, the beautiful blue that had once been so innocent. He looked saddened for a second, but then his features contorted with rage.

“You look like her,” he told him, grasping at his shoulders with clumsy fingers.

Ivan ignored what he’d said, pleading, “Let me go.”

Leonid went on, as if Ivan hadn’t even spoken, “You look like her and you killed her. Shoulda known. I shoulda known those woods didn’t kill you. You’re not Matvei’s boy. You’re mine.”

He spit in Ivan’s face and shoved him away.

“You killed her.”

Ivan wiped his face, asking, “What are you talking about?”

“You killed your mother, you pathetic runt! That’s why I left you to die. And that family took you in. Look what good it’s done them. When the people around here aren’t talking ‘bout me, they’re talking ‘bout them and their shameful, dishonorable sons. You’re nothing but a curse.”

Sam saw Ivan’s face crumble, his few moments away from Vadim utterly ruined. And he went to Vadim with his sorrow, and he cried.

Vadim killed Leonid.

And Ivan raged against it, raged against him. But he couldn’t fight him. His screams drew the attention of their parents, but before they could interfere, Ivan’s soul had been taken from his body, and was in a gem Sam recognized. He touched it where it lay against his bare chest. Vadim must have acquired it during one of his secretive trips.

Drunk with the magic that flowed through him, drunk with rage, he darkened his sold soul even more. He pointed at their parents who were confused and trying to grab Ivan who was now standing as still as a statue, eyes unblinking, and said one simple word: “Kill.”

There was confused yelling from Lada and Matvei, their voices frantic, trying to understand. And Sam couldn’t draw his eyes away as Ivan walked over to the back of the house and retrieved the axe. The violence was quick and bloody, and Ivan was left standing over the butchered bodies of his parents, their blood flowing out into the trampled grass before their house.

Vadim came up behind Ivan, breathing heavily, and took the axe from him, letting it drop to the ground. His hands roamed his body, and heat rushed through Sam so violently he could barely hold himself up.

That was when Vadim raped Ivan, and Sam couldn’t watch, crying and hyperventilating, his throat swollen with the agony of knowing what had happened to this boy whom he had grown to love so much.

 

After that day, where things had changed for good, Vadim took Ivan up north and made a hut for them to live in, surviving by hunting and stealing from travelers. For two years they lived there, and many days and nights Sam hid himself behind a tree, shuddering with rage and pain and nausea as he heard the things Vadim did to Ivan. He wanted to walk far away and never look back, but he couldn’t. The spell wouldn’t allow him.

His love wouldn’t allow him.

Vadim continued his experiments till Ivan had powers of his own, powers Sam recognized and now felt sick for wielding.

He had known that he’d been tainted and poisoning himself, knew that there hadn’t been another choice for him. But now he felt more disgusted with himself than ever.

Ivan had lost himself. What had remained of his free will and personality had been taken from him, and now Sam saw nothing in his eyes when he looked at him. There was just waiting, waiting for his next command, waiting for a task.

Vadim had him do many tasks now, from chores, to hunting, to killing people and bringing them back to him, and as the experiments continued he was able to transform into that skeletal stone monster Sam had seen him as a few times. It was scary how powerful Vadim’s magic had gotten, but the dark layers of magic he put over Ivan’s soul managed to twist him into something far from what he had been. Ivan would often sit, looking into the fire with empty eyes while Vadim collected blood from his victims in a bowl, and he talked with a demon named Gaizal. Sam had never heard of the demon before, wondered if he was still alive, but the name sounded very old. Maybe it was the crossroads demon Vadim had sold his soul to.

In time Gaizal gave Vadim a new name.

Vadrach.

Sam spent his time in those memories now glaring at Vadrach, wanting to rip his head from his shoulders, wanting to do all kinds of things to him. It was easier to look at him than it was to look at Ivan. Looking at Ivan resulted in him seeing the ruined shell of the curious, eager boy he had once been. And Sam still loved him, his heart still ached for him.

Seconds passed, or what might have been months passed. It all felt one and the same, time a foreign construct, the changing events the only real indication that time had continued to move on. If Sam was correct, it was getting close to when the Hellhounds would come for Vadrach.

They did.

He had been growing panicky, his talks with Gaizal leading to frustration he often took out on Ivan by beating him, and then he had buried Ivan’s soul near the roots of a tree, supposedly where no one could find it. Then the Hellhounds had come, and Ivan was left, sitting outside the hut in the snow, staring lifelessly at Vadrach’s mutilated, dead body.

 

Ivan didn’t need to eat anymore, didn’t need water, didn’t need sleep. So a few weeks passed, the snow nearly burying him, before he got up again. Vadrach’s body looked as it had the day he’d died, the cold preserving him. But finally, Ivan moved. He wandered.

For years, for centuries, he wandered. Aimlessly, having no goals, no true will of his own.

His wanderings took him to America, and when questions were asked or people stood in his way, he killed them, and kept on, not caring what he’d done, not even seeming to realize what he’d done.

When he was in a forest Sam recognized, elder, hickory, and maple surrounding him and rising proudly up to the sky, he laid down and closed his eyes, as if he were going to sleep. Sam didn’t know how, maybe it was the magic that had been forced through his soul, but he simply faded.

 

Sam was in another forest now, one he hadn’t seen in centuries. Men were digging up Ivan’s soul.

The gem his soul resided in passed from cult to cult to different underground religious sects, whispers of the Deathless One being told, till finally, it was acquired by the Men of Letters during World War II. A Nazi scientist they’d taken prisoner had handed it over to them after some torture. He’d been working for a secret group of men tasked with finding occult objects to help Hitler win the war.

And once Ivan’s soul was brought back to the bunker, it stayed there for nearly a decade, no one quite sure what to make of it.

 

Sam stayed with the soul, so he was unsure of what was happening in the world outside, but he knew Abaddon would come soon. Still, something else had to happen. And it eventually did. One of the Men of Letters had sold out to a demon, giving him the soul temporarily, and he worked on it, turned it into the amulet it now was. Sam knew it was Vadrach. He had the same lean, oily vessel he had now that reminded him of a snake. The soul was returned to the bunker for safekeeping, and there it stayed, unused.

Till Sam came along.

Things were different now with Ivan’s soul being in an amulet. It was like it was closed off, and he couldn’t see, but he could feel. So there was blackness, but it wasn’t total.

Then he felt something, a presence, and he immediately recognized it.

Dean.

Pain stung in his chest from feeling that presence. God, he missed Dean. He missed how things had been before he’d found the amulet.

Then he felt another presence, familiar, but still somewhat foreign. Was that how Sam felt to other people? It was himself. It had to be. There was no one else it could be.

And then the amulet was getting picked up. He still couldn’t see, but he saw it through his own memories now, the perplexed look on Dean’s face, the amulet swinging from a chain. Sam could still grasp at it where it hung around his neck, and he did so now.

“ _What_ is _that?_ ”

Sam’s voice now: “ _I don’t know._ ”

A pause, and then, “ _Whoa, Dean, don’t just poke it._ ”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“ _Because we don’t know what it does. Do you want to get yourself killed?_ ”

“ _Not really, no._ ”

Then Sam felt something, Ivan, Ivan as Vadrach had left him. He was awakening, and he was calling out to Sam.

Time passed. He was somewhere different now, and he felt Ivan’s urge to have a master, to wake from the sleep he’d somehow put himself into, to have purpose and meaning again. And Sam controlling him would do that for him.

_Sam, Sam, Sam…_

Images flashed before his eyes as he felt himself touch the amulet.

All that had transpired flickered before him, now seeming to go so fast that Sam felt like the air was being stolen from him, like he was in a vacuum and it was impossible to breathe. What he saw made him want to rip his hair out, made him want to scream, made him _hurt_. He saw it from Ivan’s point of view, saw his relief at finding Sam, saw his anger at being rejected, saw his sorrow, his fear for feeling like he had to turn on Sam to protect himself, saw him give in, give up, let Sam take his powers.

Oh, how Sam wished he had never picked up that amulet, wished he had never found it.

But he had, and there was no turning back. This was his life now.

He saw Rowena doing the spell.

And then it was over.

 

Sam opened his eyes feeling a thousand years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys go all the way back to chapter one, you can check out some fanart my awesome sister made for this story.


	51. By His Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have a heated conversation on their way to Jody's, and in the aftermath of the spell, Sam is unsure about Ivan. This leads Rowena to question him, and he shows her something he'd been keeping secret.

“Dean, I _can_ drive, you know,” Castiel said to his friend.

As humans would say, Dean looked like crap, and not even sitting behind the wheel of “Baby” brought life to him. There were still cuts and bruises on his face, bruises that were black and blue, now yelling, and there was a bandage on his hand, over the butterfly bandages Castiel had used to close his wound. And there were other wounds on his body, those that Castiel had stitched up and bandaged and still wished to heal, hidden underneath his clothes. Dean had changed out of the sweatpants he’d had on, and was wearing jeans, though he could tell it was painful due to the cut on his pelvis, and the one that went down to his hip. Just an hour ago he’d been drinking, too, so Castiel really didn’t want him driving.

“Nope. No one drives Baby but me.”

Castiel knew Dean was protective of his car, knew that being in control of at least one thing right now was probably good for him, but he needed to rest.

“Besides, you don’t know how to get to Jody’s.”

“Will Claire be there?” Castiel asked.

He knew his long-dead vessel’s daughter probably would be, but maybe talking, getting Dean to think about one good thing in his future would help. Castiel needed it too.

“Probably. Don’t think she’s gone off on her own yet.”

“I’m excited to see her. And to meet Jody. I’m surprised you’ve never taken me to see her before.”

Dean shrugged slowly, painstakingly, his shoulders barely lifting.

“You’re not always around,” he answered, sounding bitter.

That stung a little, but Castiel knew he hadn’t meant it that way. Surely he hadn’t.

Dean glanced at Cas, and gave him a smile, adding, “But I’m glad you’re here now.”

Sometimes Castiel felt ridiculous tying his emotions, himself, to the Winchesters, to this human in particular. He was an angel, far older and more powerful than them, though now he felt powerless, useless. But he had to keep trying. For them he had to keep trying. And he would because amidst the guilt, the sense of failure, there was anger, anger at Vadrach for ordering a demon to hurt his friend.

He wanted to kill him.

For Dean. He’d kill him for Dean, the man who meant so much to him, the man he was grateful to have at his side.

“You know,” Dean began, “after all this crap is over, we should do something.”

“Dean, we’re always doing something,” Castiel reasoned, not sure what his friend was getting at.

“No, no. Like, something fun. You, me, S-Sam. A night out on the town or whatever. Somewhere more exciting than Lebanon.”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, cracking another smile, this ne nearly reaching his eyes.

Castiel nodded.

“What do ya think of Vegas?”

“Isn’t that something only you and Sam do?” Castiel questioned.

Dean reiterated, “It’s something I do with _family_. And you’re family, Cas. You’ll always be my family, no matter what. Right?”

Castiel had been ready to smile, for the conversation to stay bright as they looked to a future where they weren’t hurting. But Dean’s tone on that last word had been dangerous, challenging.

He was mad about their last phone conversation, the one they’d had before Dean had gotten tortured. Castiel had thought, had hoped, that amidst what had later transpired that he’d forgotten about it.

Castiel wanted to forget about it. He hadn’t meant to say the words he had, wanted to keep the fact that he’d accidently tortured Sam a close-guarded secret.

Sam knew. That was probably one of the reasons he’d taken off.

_Oh, Sam._

Castiel had failed his friends and that dark secret burned inside of him, wanting to be let out. But he was afraid that Dean would turn on him. Castiel didn’t blame him. He’d turn on himself were he in Dean’s lace. He felt he was turning on himself now, guilt ripping him apart.

“Of course.”

Dean sighed. “What did you mean over the phone, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re more than just a pretty face.”

Castiel was too tense from where this could lead to feel shocked that Dean had called him pretty. He knew by many human standards he was attractive. Most people didn’t keep that a secret, but hearing it from Dean should’ve felt different.

Only it didn’t. He was too nervous.

“I meant that I feel guilty,” he explained. “About everything.” That much was true. He didn’t want to lie to Dean. He abhorred having to do that.

“Uh huh,” Dean responded, clearly not believing him.

Instead of prompting Castiel he remained silent, probably hoping that would drag it out of him.

An unbearable minute passed before Castiel worked up the courage to say something: “I’m not around enough. I don’t _do_ enough. And… and I failed in saving Sam from the Cage.”

Dean shot him a wary look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Castiel didn’t like where the conversation had turned, even though his secret would remain safe. But this was another thing he had agonized over. He usually saved it for when the Winchesters slept, and he hadn’t wanted to discuss it with either of them, knew Sam might never want to, but Dean was here, and he was looking for answers Castiel wouldn’t give. He had to give him something else instead, even if it made him sick inside.

He let out a long breath, meeting Dean’s eyes for a second before his friend quickly turned his attention back to the road.

“What we found out about Sam-“

“No,” Dean said fiercely. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

“Please, it’s… part of it… maybe it’s my fault.”

The hunter gave a nervous and incredulous laugh.

“Sure, and I’m Satan,” he joked.

“That’s actually who I’m trying to talk about.”

“No. No, no, no. Didn’t happen.”

“Then when? Who?”

“Well…” Dean began, seeming as if he knew something.

“What?”

“He… He told me about his first time with Ruby.” Dean remained silent, maybe hoping Castiel would ask him to stop, but when no such thing seemed forthcoming he went on, “It was iffy.”

Castiel didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. He knew. He knew, and it hurt.

“I tried to not think about it,” he continued. “Most day I forget it. But now I’m wondering.”

“I think this is more than that.”

“Cas, seriously, don’t borrow trouble.”

“I’m not,” he argued.

“Look, why… why would he…?”

That was the wrong question and they both seemed to know it. Castiel didn’t want to raise his voice at Dean, but he felt like he was coming apart, and maybe shouting would help some.

“Why _wouldn’t_ he?! We know who he is, we know what he does, we know how evil he is. And-and Sam was with him for _centuries_ because _I failed_. So tell me, why wouldn’t he?!”

Dean turned on the stereo at that, blasting a rock song that Castiel recognized, but didn’t know the name of.

“Dean!”

He turned the volume down, and Dean glared at him before cranking it back up.

Castiel grew so angry from that that the stereo sparked and died, the music silencing.

“Hey! Did you just do that?”

Castiel felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes now.

“It was an accident,” he murmured.

Not saving Sam from the Cage, torturing Sam…

“It was an accident.”

“Okay. Okay,” Dean relented, taking in a shaky breath. “Say… Say he did. What does that have to do with any of this? Sam ran away, that’s on him.”

“Sam is _scared_ , Dean. He’s sacred of the amulet, scared of the demon blood. He’s scared of _us_.”

“What, you think he thinks we’re gonna hurt him?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“That we’re going to judge him. That we _are_ judging him.”

Dean looked so lost in that moment, green eyes drawing away from the beaten road again to look at Castiel. Nothing was hidden from him in that moment. With the anger faded away he saw nothing but hurt, and sadness, and longing for his brother. And he truly was glad to have Castiel at his side.

“But we’re not,” he told him quietly, voice broken, looking like a little boy who had already given up on the world. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Castiel felt his own tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “I… I told him I’m not.”

“He probably doesn’t believe it.”

Dean clenched his jaw, then admitted, “I don’t know how to save him this time.”

He knew his friend was expecting wise words, or reassurance, but Castiel drew his gaze away as he said all he could, “Me either.”

Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, maybe for comfort, for both of them, and Castiel reached up to lightly grip his hand, not wanting to ever let go.

 

Rowena was still next to Sam, and as he got up he pushed her aside, nearly throwing her in his haste. Ivan was sitting up, already sobbing and Sam wrapped him up in an embrace, not even noticing the pain or that he was still bleeding.

The shock of suddenly being held made Ivan’s sobs stop, and Sam pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, realizing his mistake.

He got off the bed to give Ivan his space.

The thousand-year-old who looked so young frowned, and then sniffled.

“You saw?” he asked, not meeting Sam’s gaze.

“Everything.”

Without thinking, Sam took off the amulet, setting himself on the bed beside Ivan.

“Here,” he offered. “This belongs to you.”

Without his soul, Ivan shouldn’t be hurting like this, unless Vadrach had made it part of the spells. Vadrach was cruel, so he probably had, and he had seen evidence of such spellwork before.

Sam wanted to kill him, crush his skull beneath his boots.

“Sam, what are you doin’?” Rowena asked in shock.

He ignored her, holding the amulet closer.

“Ivan.”

“No.” He lifted up his head, blue eyes filled with agony. “I… I won’t be able to stop him, Sam. I’m not strong enough. I _wasn’t_ strong enough. I’m weak.”

“Het, you are _not_ weak.”

“Sure,” Rowena cut in disbelievingly.

“Shut up,” he told her. “Leave.”

He felt her eyes on him, like fire against his back, but then she relented, “Fine. Maybe I’ll go play with your other slave.”

Sam knew that was supposed to irritate him, but it didn’t; he was focused on Ivan.

He heard her leave, and then he prompted, “Ivan, please. Take back yourself.”

“I can’t. He-he…”

“I know, but, you can.”

Maybe Sam wasn’t just pleading with him, maybe he was pleading with himself. He had to see that somehow there was a way to belong to only himself again, to be happy.

His hopes crumbled as Ivan pushed his hands away, turning away from him.

“Just get on with it, master.”

A tear rolled down Sam’s cheek, and he clenched his jaw, fearing that if he opened his mouth he’d start sobbing.

He put the amulet around his neck once more, and it felt comfortable there despite the evil of it. Evil ran in Sam’s blood, as it was. Maybe evil was all there was left to him.

After collecting himself he got up, telling him, “Not now.”

Sam wanted power, but he wasn’t sure he had it in him to kill Ivan.

How could he kill someone who felt like his son?

Rowena was in the empty kitchen, looking annoyed.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“A few minutes,” she answered. She let a few seconds stretch on before questioning, “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Sam nodded, holding himself up with the counter, feeling heavy with the knowledge he now had. Feeling poisoned.

Despite being angry with him a few moments ago, Rowena began rubbing his back, and Sam let her.

Her hand stayed as just as her hand, and that moment was all there was. It wasn’t unpleasant, her touch warm against his skin.

“What did you see?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to hear it.”

“I want to know what took your hate and changed it into love. What’s powerful enough to do that to you?” Sam shot her a look at the word _love_ and she went on, “Don’t give me that face, Samuel. I’m no expert in love, but I can still recognize it when I see it.”

He sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter. Her hand reached up to his shoulder now, her touch still an attempt to reassure.

“He’s not evil, Rowena,” Sam answered. “I thought he was, but he’s not. He’s hurt.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Me?” Sam asked incredulously, slapping Rowena’s hand away.

“You ever think you’re just pretending to be bad?” she asked him, suddenly raising her voice. “That deep down you’re not?”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Sam retorted.

“Ha, that’s rich! Nice, compassionate Sam is just a demon inside, is that it? Sweetheart, you don’t know evil.”

Sam wanted to yell, wanted to lash out, throw her against a wall, but he laughed instead.

_He_ didn’t know evil?

The idea was preposterous. He’d shared a bed with evil.

“Don’t pretend to know me,” Sam snorted once he’d stopped laughing. He stood to his full height now, hoping he seemed imposing. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve done, what I want. Evil has been flowing through my veins nearly my _entire life_ , and it’s not gonna disappear just ‘cause you think I’m pretending.”

“Wow. Dramatic much?”

Something snapped inside Sam at that, and he grabbed Rowena’s wrist, intending to go to the basement and drag her along.

“Come with me,” he said, though he wasn’t really giving her much of a choice.

“Let me go, you giant!”

That was just about the only fight she put up, aside from smacking his wrist. She couldn’t used magic, could’ve hurt him. But she didn’t, and Sam was too worked up to wonder why. Maybe Rowena knew he wasn’t going to harm her.

When Sam got to the basement, Lamazar’s gaze drew to Rowena.

“Oh, interested in making it a threesome?” she taunted. Sam growled at her, more annoyed that she was still trying to get the upper hand here than with anything else. “And nice rune-work,” she commented, eyeing Sam’s torso appraisingly. “Kinky.”

She shut up as son as Sam let go of Rowena and took out a knife. The wound on her neck had not yet fully healed, but Sam was going to open it again.

“Rowena,” he began, not looking at her as he approached Lamazar and straddled her, “Don’t say anything. Just watch.”

Sam wrenched Lamazar’s head back, a hand in her hair, reopened the wound, and then began to drink her blood, knife now against her collarbones. He was still sated from earlier, but he could never have too much. He’d found that out right before saying yes to the Devil, had drank gallons of it, and he wanted that much now.

“Get him off me!” Lamazar cried to Rowena.

Sam felt so good from the blood his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and he couldn’t help but let out a hungry moan, which was muffled against her skin. Lamazar was straining against him, tugging uselessly at her chain, crying out. Her voice cut off when he dug his tongue into the wound.

He wanted to drink her dry, but he knew he had to keep her around, so he forced himself to pull away. Lamazar was trembling, eyes burning with hatred.

Sam got off of her, and turned to Rowena, holding his arms out.

“There. Now you know what she’s for. Still think I’m not evil?”

Sam hadn’t been sure what he’d expected from Rowena. She wasn’t a good person, but he was sure this was a whole new thing to her. Her eyes were wide with shock, but dark with something that made Sam uncomfortable, even though he was sure he was the one in power at the moment.

Or maybe he wasn’t. He had just revealed more of himself to her. And now he just had to wait for her to pass judgment on him.

Rowena went up to him, producing a handkerchief, and began cleaning the blood from his face, one hand on his chin to keep him steady. “I think,” she told him, “that we’re going to accomplish a lot together.”

Before Sam could ask what she meant by that she was standing on her tiptoes and kissing him. It was a quick kiss, hardly anything romantic or sexual, more of recognition, an acceptance that he was what he was. Rowena was okay with that, was okay with the demon blood, with the darkness. And that was what Sam needed.

 Maybe he didn’t feel about her the way she clearly did about him, but he needed her.

Whatever happened, with Vadrach, with Ivan, with Dean and Castiel, Sam wanted Rowena at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yep, things are back on track. Chapter 52 has been written, but it's in a notebook since that's the only way I could write at work. I probably won't have time to type it up for awhile. But the end is in sight! The end action will start with chapter 53, and there's a cliffhanger at the end of chapter 52 that leads into it. I can't wait for the rest of this story to play out.


	52. A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel stay with Jody, and as it nears Halloween, Sam learns that they're in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wouldn't have this chapter up for awhile, but I found that I had more free time than I'd planned for. So yep! Here it is. We're getting close to the end!

It was late in the evening by the time Dean and Castiel got to Jody’s. She greeted them warmly, giving a shocked angel a hug, and trying to give Dean one as well, but he refused, his entire torso aching.

“Alex, they’re here!” Jody called back into the house as Dean and Castiel entered.

Dean was so exhausted from pain that he sank down onto the couch in the living room, eyes half-open. He had thought maybe driving Baby would make him feel better, but it had been difficult to focus when his wounds throbbed with each beat of his heart. The discussion he’d had with Castiel early on during the trip hadn’t helped, and he kept replaying it over and over again.

Castiel walked slowly around the living room, gazing at everything, but not touching.

“You have a beautiful home,” Castiel told Jody, who had sat herself down in the chair next to the couch.

“Thanks.”

Alex and Claire came down the stairs. Claire brightened at seeing them, rushing to give Castiel a hug that he returned.

“You look terrible,” Alex observed as she settled beside Dean with a first aid kit.

“Sure do,” he responded.

Alex was still in high school, but since Jody was having her look at Dean he assumed she’d taken a lot of biology and anatomy classes. He wasn’t too worried. Alex was a smart girl. She started with tugging at the bandage on his hand, wanted to get a look at him.

“Where else are you hurt?”

Dean pulled his hand back, sitting up with a groan.

“Maybe it’d just be easier if I took my shirt off.”

He winced, pulling his left arm – which was swollen and bruised – from his jacket, and Castiel was over in an instant to help him. A thought, one filled with heat, flashed through his mind for just a second as Castiel helped undress him, but then it was gone.

“Wow,” Claire exclaimed from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What chewed you up and spit you out?”

“Demon.”

“She dead?”

“Of course. I killed her,” Castiel answered.

“Okay, lay back down,” Alex instructed.

“No problem there,” Dean said, immediately following her orders.

Claire looked amused, but Dean figured she was using it to hide how she felt, just as he often did. “Huh, Dean got beat up by a girl.”

“Claire, now isn’t the time,” Jody snapped.

As Alex started taking off his other bandages to properly assess his wounds, Dean informed Claire, “I’ve gotten beat up by plenty of girls. Anyone can hurt someone else no matter their sex. Lots of dark things out there.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Jeez, it was just a joke.”

“Go get dinner started,” Jody told her.”

“By myself?”

Castiel leaned over the couch to put his hand against Dean’s face for just a second, and then said to Claire, “I’ll help.”

Alex’s hands faltered at the bandages that disappeared into Dean’s pants, and she asked, “Are you comfortable with me taking care of that?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Doesn’t hit anything important.”

“Okay, but it could get infected.”

“Whatever, just teach me how to clean it and I will.”

The first thing Alex did was clean Dean’s wounds, telling him exactly what she used – a mixture of warm water, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide. He had thought it would hurt, but it felt soothing instead. She then wrapped two ace bandages around his elbow before rubbing different kinds of ointment on him, and she let him take some pain medicine. Jody stayed, keeping a watchful eye, and helping when needed.

“How much water have you been drinking?” Alex asked as she bandaged him up again.

“Enough.”

“Castiel!” she called, clearly wanting to verify. He came over, wiping his hands on a towel. “How much water has he been drinking?”

“He hasn’t had any in a few hours. He’s stubborn.”

The angel directed a glare at him as he said the last sentence, and Dean shot him a similarly annoyed, but fond, look that asked, _what?_

“Does alcohol count?” Dean joked.

“No,” Alex told him sternly.

“Dean,” Jody sighed. “You gotta take care of yourself.”

“Funny.”

“We’ll talk after dinner,” she told him, and then she went in the kitchen, probably to see if Claire was finished yet.

Alex had Dean sit up to wrap one of the bandages around his back, but Castiel relieved her, saying, “I can finish up.”

Alex cleaned up the supplies and then left. Sounds of Jody, Claire, and Alex talking came from the kitchen, the beeping of a timer, the sizzling of food in a pan, silverware clinking against plates.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Castiel told him, having him lift his arms up so he could reach around him.

“It’s okay. We… we had to talk about that stuff, I think. But now it’s been playing in my head over and over.”

“Mine too.”

“God, I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean said, looking up so Castiel wouldn’t see the anguish in his eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t anyway; he was focused on taking care of him.

“I wish you would let me heal you.”

“I’m fine. Had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it,” the angel grumbled.

“It’s a part of life,” Dean reasoned.

Castiel held the bandage against his torso, hand firmly yet gently pressing against him. The other was grabbing the roll of tape, which he teared at with his teeth.

As he taped the ends of the bandage together he said, “That doesn’t mean I can’t abhor how much you suffer.” He looked up at him now, eyes watery with emotion. “I care about you, Dean. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Cas,” he replied placing his fingers in his hair, thumb against his cheekbone. “Yeah, I do.”

They were silent for a bit, staring into each other’s eyes. Calm fell over Dean, warmth, and he wanted to drown in the blue depths that stared back at him.

“Boys! Dinner!” Jody called.

Dean was snapped from his reverie.

 

It was late now, after dinner and Dean, Castiel, and Jody were in the living room. Claire and Alex had been sent to their rooms, something Claire wasn’t happy about, but Alex had dragged her off, the two of them bickering.

Dean was on his third glass of water and he wasn’t happy to be drinking so much of something that wasn’t alcohol. Jody had broken out a bottle of wine for dinner, but after seeing the way Dean had looked at it she’d quickly put it away.

“So tell me what’s going on.”

Dean sighed and gave his glass a forlorn glance.

“At first we were just dealing with a monster,” Castiel stated once he realized Dean wasn’t going to answer. “The Deathless One.”

Castiel told Jody about the Deathless One, and eventually Dean spoke up, telling of Sam finding the amulet, the case with the hunters who had been turned to stone that had first alerted Dean to the issue, the other dead bodies and disappearances in Lebanon. It got harder to go on when they got to Sam, when they told of him having a slave, of taking his powers, of running away.

Dean had drained his glass by then, and Castiel offered, “I’ll get you more water.”

“No. Wine.”

“Dean.”

“I’ll get you some,” Jody relented. “Hell, I need a glass.”

Once they were settled with their respective wine glasses, the liquid reminding Dean of blood in his darkened state, Cas tensed, looking like he wanted to take Dean’s glass away from him.

Jody asked, “What’s the rest of the story?”

“What?”

“Dean, come on. You look like crap. You both told me about Sam, but there’s something else going on. What is it?”

“Trouble with Hell,” Castiel answered. “Crowley, the former king of Hell got dethroned. There’s a new ruler, Vadrach, and he doesn’t like us very much. I admit… it might have something to do with me. Not all the demons liked that I was working with Crowley.”

“Not just demons,” Dean grumbled.

“You were working with him?” Jody exclaimed, drawing Castiel’s attention from Dean’s comment.

“Yes, he was,” he answered for his friend, tone properly bitter.

“Oh, so you can run off with him for six weeks and no one gets mad at you?”

“Lay off,” Dean said. “That was last year. I was barely me. Doesn’t count.”

“Dean, I didn’t-”

Jody suddenly cut in, “Do I have to leave you two alone?”

Dean blushed, but couldn’t figure out why, and he smiled through his discomfort.

“No,” he and Castiel both answered at once.

Jody sipped her wine.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing. Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.”

“It’s true,” Castiel agreed. “You did make a face.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Back on track. Castiel, why were you working with Crowley?”

“One of his demons got killed by the Deathless One. He wanted my help.”

Dean always got touchy when discussing Castiel working with Crowley. It wasn’t just because of how Castiel had betrayed them after the Apocalypse – hell, he’d forgiven him for that. It was… something else. He didn’t know what.

Castiel and Crowley.

Castiel.

And Crowley.

It didn’t fit.

The face Jody had given him had distracted him for a few moments, but now he was back to being… he didn’t know the word. Upset?

So he wasn’t at all surprised when he blurted out, “You sure that wasn’t all he wanted help with?”

“Dean, what are you implying?”

He squinted at him. “I think you know.”

“Oh my god, you two,” Jody sighed. “How old are you?”

“Four-hundred mil-” Castiel began to answer.

Dean cut him off by putting a hand over his mouth, and Castiel glanced at him with furrowed brows.

“Okay, you know what, I think that’s enough for tonight. Dean, I have a guest bedroom, and Cas-”

Dean had taken his hand away, so Castiel informed her, “I don’t sleep.”

“Right. Well, the TV’s all yours. I have Netflix. Try to not let the volume get too loud.” She drained her wine after she stood and then yawned. “Bedroom’s up the stairs, down the hall, first door on the right.”

Once she was out of earshot Castiel said, “I like her.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Finish your wine,” Castiel said, tone commanding, “and then I’m gonna clean the wound on your pelvis.”

“Dude, I can do that.”

“Please, just let me do it. I want to help in some way.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, and then drank the rest of his wine in one big gulp.

He was buzzing from it, and maybe if he weren’t tired he’d be buzzing from how Castiel was going to help him. But he didn’t even care at this point. He was actually grateful he’d offered. Dean didn’t feel like doing it himself anyway, just really wanted to go to sleep.

“Think anyone’s gonna come down the stairs?” Dean asked as he followed Castiel into the kitchen as the angel went to retrieve the bowl Alex had used earlier.

“I doubt it. It is late, and tomorrow’s a weekday.”

“Right.”

Dean told Castiel what to mix together, and they headed back into the living room, Castiel also holding a washcloth he’d found.

Not really caring, especially since Castiel had already seen him naked, and had stitched up the injury down there, he tugged his pants down, and then lowered his boxers a bit before beginning to undo the bandages they’d wound around the lower part of his hips. Sure, it looked awkward, but Castiel didn’t mention it, just had Dean lie down.

“Sorry about earlier,” Dean said as the soothing warmth of the cloth was pressed against his skin.

“No, you’re right to be angry. I shouldn’t have been with Crowley.”

“So? It was your decision. I should respect that. I don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Castiel was focused on the cut on Dean’s pelvis, but he could tell he wasn’t keeping himself detached from this. What he could see of his eyes held worry and adoration.

“Apology accepted.”

Dean winced as the cloth went lower. It hadn’t hurt earlier; maybe they’d messed up and put too much hydrogen peroxide. Still, Castiel was gentle.

Maybe the alcohol was affecting him because Dean suddenly had the urge to giggle, and he did.

“How did we get like this, Cas?”

“What do you mean?”

“My pants down, you taking care of me.” A breath that was almost a laugh. “That sounded dirty.”

Castiel made sure he saw him roll his eyes as he dipped the washcloth in the bowl again.

“What? I’m serious. This should be weird, right? But it’s not.”

“Nothing with you is weird.”

Dean snorted. “Sure.”

He knew he could be a strange person from time to time, was trying to let that part of himself out more, but he found it amusing that Cas didn’t acknowledge it. Or maybe he liked that part of Dean. Maybe he just liked Dean. Well, that was stupid. Of course he did.

Dean didn’t even know where his head was going anymore, but his mouth kept moving: “Hey, you know that time you lost your virginity?”

“Can we not discuss this?”

“I wish that…” Dean went on, ignoring Cas, “I wish that… I don’t know what I wish. What do you wish?”

“We’ve had this conversation before. For Sam to be with us.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist, and though Castiel was a lot stronger than him, he still let him hold his hand near his pelvis.

“No, what do you wish?”

“I wish you would let me heal you.”

Dean groaned at that. He wouldn’t give in though. He wouldn’t let Castiel sap any of his power for him, not when he might need it. He wasn’t worth it.

“Now, please, just let me finish. You’re tipsy and should go to bed.”

“Why don’t you go to bed?” Dean shot back, some part of him knowing that didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t sleep.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, grinning at him now. “I see what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?”

Dean put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Sh… Can’t tell. It’s a secret.”

“All right, Dean.”

Castiel finished up, had Dean stand up to bandage him, and then he helped him into bed. Dean was asleep before Castiel even left the room.

 

Dean and Castiel stayed with Jody, Claire, and Alex for a few days, and it was now two days before Halloween. Jody kept having to go out and buy more candy because Dean kept eating it. She didn’t seem to mind much and Castiel was grateful she was managing to keep Dean away from alcohol.

She had put out an APB for Sam, talked to some of her hunter contacts, but they still had nothing.

Castiel had stopped trying to worry so much. Sam would show himself eventually. He had to. Now they were trying to figure out where Vadrach might be, but never talked to Jody about it. Dean didn’t want to drag her into this mess, and as Castiel got to know her, neither did he. Not that she couldn’t handle herself, but she had Claire and Alex to take care of, two people who needed her to come home at the end of the day, and she already put herself at so much risk as it was. It wasn’t fair to ask her to sacrifice anymore.

Their plans on taking the demon king out were limited since Sam had the demon-killing knife. Castiel was the only one who would be able to kill him, so Dean made sure Castiel didn’t heal him no matter how much he pestered him about it.

With Jody and the girls around they didn’t feel so low, their hosts seemed to enjoy their company a good deal, but that could also be because Castiel tried his best at doing chores while they were gone for the day. It was the least he could do for all the hospitality they’d shown them.

Castiel had just finished the dishes and sat down at the dining room table next to Dean, who was on his laptop staring at a map of the United States.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where Vadrach might be. I’m not so sure he’s in Massachusetts anymore, but we can check, I suppose.”

“Or we could call Crowley.”

Dean groaned. “When I checked on him two days ago he was busy.” When he said _busy_ he put up air quotes.

Castiel tilted his head, waiting for Dean to explain.

“ _Busy_ , according to the depressed, former king of Hell, is eating pizza, drinking, and listening to The Who’s greatest hits. He’s not gonna help us. He is way past caring.”

“Fine. Then what do we do?”

Dean grabbed a package of Reese’s from the large, orange bowl sitting in the middle of the table, opened the package, and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.

Still chewing, he said, “We sit, we wait, we eat candy.”

 

Sam and Rowena were still in the same dreadful abandoned house, but it wasn’t as bad with running water and working electricity. Sam had continued to drink from Lamazar, and her taunts had lessened, but that didn’t mean she no longer hated him. In fact, she hated him more.

Ivan was still Ivan, and Sam tried repeatedly to give him his soul back, even attempted to grow closer to him, to foster that connection that he felt from his memories, but he refused to speak to him. He refused to speak at all. After that day where they’d both seen his memories and they had spoken, Ivan hadn’t said another word.

And then there was Rowena, still trying to convince Sam to take Ivan’s powers. To kill him.

He had nightmares of cold, of dark, of blood, and unwanted touches. And sometimes he wasn’t the one being tormented. It was Ivan.

Sam felt like he was at a crossroads where either path would be the wrong one.

He had to choose which one he could live with.

Let Ivan live, let him continue to suffer, continue being weak and helpless.

Kill Ivan, the being who still felt like his son despite his silence, become powerful.

Become safe.

Compassion for weakness.

Grief for safety.

He didn’t discuss it with Rowena, didn’t want to share his thoughts with her, but for some reason, when he couldn’t sleep she let him go to her.

Her room in the house was right next to his. She didn’t always wake up when he came in; he knew how to walk quietly despite his size, and he’d figured out how to twist the rusted door handle so it wouldn’t squeak, and what floorboards to avoid so there wouldn’t be any creaking.

He didn’t know why, but he’d get into bed with her. He had to stay close in order to not fall out, but he didn’t embrace her either. The scabbed over wounds on his torso were too sensitive for that.

And he didn’t want to.

They hadn’t kissed again, and Sam liked it that way. It was less confusing not being with her like that. It was one less thing to occupy his already-cluttered mind.

It was morning, two days before Halloween, and Sam had gone to the basement to drink from Lamazar again. To his surprise her hands were stained red and she was smiling at him.

Despite how many times she’d lain beneath him, begging for him to not drink from her anymore, that look still sent a chill down his spine.

“Better get to Sioux Falls,” she sang. “Vadrach’s paying your friend a visit. I heard it’s gonna be a blast.”

She winked at him and Sam’s heart leapt up into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so thrilled that I'm getting close to finishing this story. You guys are seriously gonna hate me for the ending. It's a huge cliffhanger.


	53. Some Say the World Will End in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel rush to save Jody from whatever it is the demons have planned for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently chapter 53 wanted to rip its way out of my soul because here it is way earlier than I expected!

Sam’s hands started shaking immediately, and he turned from Lamazar as she laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He painstakingly tapped in Jody’s phone number, thumbs pressing the wrong numbers, and each second it took was too long. Finally he had the phone to his ear.

No answer.

_ Shit, shit. Come on, Jody. _

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Sam pleaded.

Nothing.

He tried again.

His heart was racing, heat rising in him, and he started pacing, running a hand through his hair.

She still didn’t pick up.

Sam had a feeling about what he had to do, but he didn’t want to do it. He had to call Dean.

No answer from his brother either. He was probably mad at him.

So Sam did all he could think of - even though he thought he was too damned to be doing so -  and prayed to Castiel. He begged and pleaded that he would hear him, tried letting him know that Jody was in danger. Castiel didn’t know Jody, but surely Castiel would look after a friend of his.

“Maybe she’s already dead,” Lamazar told him.

Sam growled at her, still pacing.

His phone started ringing. He looked at the caller ID, saw it was Dean and picked up.

“Dean?”

“Sam, Cas said something’s wrong. What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I’m fine. It’s Jody. I… I fucked up, okay? Vadrach’s going after Jody. You have to get to her. I’ll be there soon.”

Sam didn’t want to explain more, didn’t want to say how it was his fault. It cleary was his fault. Lamazar had had access to enough blood -  _ her _ blood - to communicate with Vadrach, Sam had talked with Jody in front of her, maybe she’d seen the caller ID. He hung up, knowing there’d probably be questions, questions that he couldn’t answer and questions that he didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t important. Jody was in danger.

He put his phone away, quickly coming to a decision.

“Okay, I wasn’t gonna do this,” he told her, taking out his knife he’d brought down with him to feed. “But desperate times, desperate measures.”

“What… what are you doing?”

“Drinking you dry,” he answered, kneeling in front of her, one hand out to hold her still with his powers, the other raising the knife to her throat.

Sam sliced into Lamazar as she started screaming, and then he leaned in to drink her till there was nothing left. He needed to be strong for what was coming, and he needed to get back at her for what she’d done.

 

“Dean, you can’t go to the sheriff’s station and fight!” Cas reasoned as Dean was rushing about, packing some of the things that had gotten strewn over Jody’s house the few days they’d been there.

“Yeah? And why not?”

Castiel grabbed him, turning him to him. “You’re still hurt.”

He shrugged out of his grip, the angel letting him. “So? I’m not the one that matters right now. Vadrach’s going after Jody.”

“Look, maybe… maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he doesn’t know where she’ll be.”

“Sam sounded pretty freaked. And what if he actually comes lookin’ here? I don’t want to be around for that. Just me on my own? I won’t stand a chance. We’re going.”

“I could-” Castiel began, reaching out his hand to him.

Dean shied away. “Don’t heal me. Don’t even think about it. I’m fighting as is.” He dug through his jacket pocket and tossed Castiel the keys to the Impala. “Now go get my guns ready.”

 

Jody was getting out of her car, just getting back to the sheriff’s station from looking in on a call they’d received about a man bringing a gun into a daycare. To her utmost relief it had just been an airsoft gun he’d removed the plastic tip from and he hadn’t fired. She still had to take him in; he’d attempted to attack Jody, but she’d been able to arrest him without him getting a single hit in. Her cellphone had been ringing on the way to the station, but she never picked up while on official business, and it hadn’t been the emergency ringtone she’d set for Alex and Claire, so everything was fine.

After getting the man squared away and with a glass of water, she checked her phone.

Sam had called.

Oh god, it must be something major if he was calling. After his disappearance Jody didn’t know what he’d been up to, but something had to be wrong.

She tapped on his name to call him back.

 

Jody. Jody was calling.

Sam had drank as much of Lamazar as he could, had done so in a mad rush, slicing into arteries wherever they were, her neck, her thighs, blood gushing into his mouth and onto his face, even into his hair and on his neck. She was dead now, pale, drained body limp against the wall, chains pulling at her lifeless hands.

He was racing up the awkward, wedge-shaped stairs now as quickly as he could, while answering the call, putting Jody on speaker so he wouldn’t get blood on his phone.

“Hey, Sam! What’s going on?”

“Jody, where are you?” he asked, making his way through the old, rundown house to find Ivan. He knew what he had to do, and he didn’t want to do it. But Jody was more important. She’d helped him, she cared about him. She was his friend.

Ivan was none of those things.

His slave still felt like his son, but he didn’t reciprocate and it was breaking Sam’s heart, and he was suffering. Sam had to end it. He had to be powerful enough to face Vadrach.

“I’m down at the station. Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s a  _ really _ long story, but a demon is coming. Maybe a lot of ‘em are. They’re after you.”

“Why? Did you do something?”

“After. I’ll tell you after. Just get somewhere safe. Please.”

“As far as I know the sheriff’s station is the safest place around, so unless you’ve got a better idea, I’m staying.”

Sam opened Rowena’s door, stuck his head in, and said to her, “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, tone properly startled. She had been lying on her bed, clearly bored out of her mind, but was sitting up now.

“Sioux Falls.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. You’ll only slow me down.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue further and shut the door, going to where he kept Ivan.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Just… I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

He didn’t know what else to tell her, didn’t know when Vadrach was going to attack, didn’t know how, didn’t know the numbers. But at least she was warned. So he hung up, hoping that wasn’t the last time he’d ever speak to her.

Sam burst into Ivan’s room and his slave started, staring at him with huge eyes at seeing his bloodied state.

Still he said nothing.

Now Sam stood there, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, power racing through his veins. Power, but not enough.

Ivan was the last piece.

His son.

He had to.

But still he paused, looking at him, at the agonies in the blue depths that stared back at him. What Sam was about to do hit him and his throat began to ache, the corners of his eyes stinging.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said quietly, voice barely wanting to come out. “But… I have no choice. Something happened, something’s gonna happen. I have to. This isn’t how I wanted to end things. If anything I wanted to talk to you more, tell you I don’t hate you like I used to, tell you I get it.”

Ivan shook his head, pulling his knees to his chest and lowering his gaze.

“Don’t,” he spoke, shocking Sam. “It’s my fault. I did this to you.”

Sam drew closer, kneeling in front of him before the bed, reaching out to take his hand, but then stopped himself. “You did.” He grabbed the amulet, holding it up between the two of them. “But Vadrach did this to  _ you _ . I’m going after him, Ivan. I’m going to kill him. And… And I need your power to stop him.”

His slave just nodded in understanding, and then he pressed his hand against the amulet softly, palm against the gently pulsating gem, against the tips of Sam’s fingers. A recognition, an acceptance. A goodbye.

He met Sam’s gaze now, tears in his eyes, and told him, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Sam stood, but kept himself at Ivan’s level. He slowly reached out and twined his fingers in Ivan’s hair, leaned in, and brought their foreheads together, closing his eyes. Ivan accepted the touch, and Sam felt him lean in of his own accord. Their breathing was stuttered, the both of them trying not to cry, hands still on the amulet.

Eventually, what felt like too soon, Sam pulled away, and stood to his full height. His vision blurred as he looked at Ivan, the Deathless One, his slave, his son. This was the boy he’d seen grow up, the boy he’d seen experience one unspeakable horror after another. The boy who had lost himself, had lost his free will, who had forgotten freedom. Maybe he’d go to Heaven. And maybe there he’d taste freedom again.

Sam hoped he would.

“Ivan Matveiovich,” he commanded, using his full name, the name of his father, voice working its way through the evil, sickening magic of the amulet one final time, “use the last of your powers that have been forced upon you so that I may take them and bear your burden.” He gave him a sad smile, a single tear making its way down his cheek. He went on, not speaking through magic, not speaking through power, but doing so simply as himself, as one human being to another, “It’s time for you to finally rest.”

Ivan closed his eyes and inhaled, and then the temperature in the room dropped by thirty degrees. Sam felt it even with the amulet. Ice formed over anything that had held moisture, wood cracking and creaking, some of it splintering. And then that wood was turning to stone. Everything that wasn’t living and breathing in that room turned to stone, and some part of him knew his powers extended to the entire house and the clearing. This last burst of power was a release of everything. Sam felt Ivan’s focus, his anger, his hatred, his torment. He started screaming, his voice striking Sam’s heart and tearing through it. It held everything, the millennium he’d lived through, all the horrors, the abuse, the torture, the violations of his body, the betrayal of trust, the taking of his free will. Shame, humiliation, confusion, guilt, grief, his entire being, voice so raw that it was a power in and of itself.

The cold and stone began to flow into the amulet, into Sam, and his grief was washed away in a rush of freezing, refreshing strength. It flowed through his veins, through his muscles, through every part of him, into him, and he felt so alive with it, so alight with magic that he was smiling, endorphins bursting through his brain. The single tear dripped off his chin.

Sam felt like he could fight a god.

Then he felt Ivan’s heart beating, felt his blood rushing through his veins, and he saw into his mind. Vadim at four years old was peering down at him in the tiny house that he had learned to call home the first few years of his life, the only time it had actually felt like a home. The linseed oil lantern cast bright light on Vadim’s small face as Ivan’s tiny fingers gripped him; happy, safe, and warm. 

A smile from the boy who would be his older brother, the boy who would become his greatest fear.

“ _ Hello, Ivan. _ ”

In that moment, everything dissipated, melting away, and there was nothing but peace.

The scream of the Deathless One ended, and he was no more. Ivan’s body slumped down onto the bed with a thud. A few long seconds passed before Sam opened his eyes.

He cried, he sobbed, he laughed, all the power and security he could’ve ever wanted rushing through him, and Ivan, the man who had felt like his son, lay dead in front of him.

Sam was immortal.

With the ice, the stone, the demon blood, he was exactly who he was supposed to be. He was the Boy With the Demon Blood, the new Deathless One. And he didn’t care that he was Lucifer’s vessel. He didn’t care that Azazel had pushed him on this path, that  _ demons _ had pushed him on this path. He was who he was. And that person was someone who couldn’t be hurt ever again. Sam was himself. Not a freak, not someone’s bitch, no longer a slave to powers stronger than him.

Sam was Sam. 

And he was happy to be himself.

 

The man Jody had brought in, who had said his name was Mark Daniels, had begun banging on the glass of the interrogation room they’d brought him to to wait in. The deputy had gotten her, clearly shaken, not explaining; she was trembling too much to speak.

The banging had stopped, and Jody looked in through the one-way glass. Mark Daniels was smiling at them, his eyes black.

Adrenaline spiked through Jody so powerfully her whole body tingled, her heart jumping to beat at a nearly impossible rate.

He started opening his vest, and Jody saw wires.

“Get out of here!” she screamed immediately, pushing the deputy out in front of her, already running. “It’s a bomb!”

She raced out of the hallway with the few interrogation rooms, into the main area with the offices and the glass partitions.

“Everybody out! A bomb! There’s a bomb!”

There were a few startled screams, chairs scraping and wheeling across the floor, her deputies getting to their feet.

Jody grabbed as many people from their chairs as they could, and she rushed to the door, pushing them ahead of her.

But then some of their eyes turned black, and hands grabbed at her, hands held her deputies back. And Jody couldn’t save them. She knew she couldn’t. She had to run.

Each second she lingered was far too long.

The demon was going to blow up the sheriff’s station.

She forced her way past all the hands, screaming madly.

A thunderous boom sounded behind her, pressing against her body, as she made it a few feet from the door. Heat and fire blasted outwards, the force of it throwing her into the air, and across the cement, rolling and rolling and rolling till she bumped into a car, head whacking against the hard rubber tire. Debris rained to the ground all around her, a chunk of the roof landing on her leg and striking pain through it. She reached her hand out to the burning building, a strangled wail leaving her as tears began to streak down her face. Her vision was blurring, her head pounding, and she couldn’t breathe. She was burned and scraped and bruised and banged up, but none of that mattered because her lungs felt like they’d been struck with a hammer. She couldn’t breathe.

Sam was running towards the inferno the building had become, dodging the burning debris, blood on his face and neck and in his hair, blood dripping from one of his hands. Jody lost consciousness as he held his hands out and shouted, black smoke rising into the air.

 

Dean probably broke at least three or four driving laws to get to the sheriff’s station. Something was wrong. He knew it. And then he saw smoke rising into the sky. At first it looked like it was just from a fire, thick and gray, but then it grew into something more physical, into something darker, moving much faster, and Dean recognized what it was immediately. Demons. When he got to what was left of sheriff’s station Sam was there, quelling the fires that raged through the blown out building.

He rushed out of the car, gun in tow, Castiel moving as quickly as he did.

“Jody!” he cried. “ _ Jody! _ ”

In that moment, Dean forgot all that had transpired with Sam. He ran up to his brother, watching in awe as he yelled, putting out the fires. He ignored the blood on his face, ignored everything but the despair that washed over him. His pistol fell from his hand, and he clutched at his hair, tears streaming down his face.

The wind the fire created was whipping their clothing about them, some of Sam’s hair getting in his eyes, and there was the combatting air of the cold, rushing and bursting through it.

“Dean! She’s over here!” Cas cried, voice breaking through the roaring of the dying flames.

Dean couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or if the sky was darkening. His breathing changed, and his injures began to ache incessantly. He ignored it all as he rushed over to Cas, who was lugging a piece of concrete off of a battered Jody.

He pressed his fingers against her neck to feel her pulse. It was weak, and the skin at the hollow of her throat was sucking in as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Cas, heal her!” he told him, holding her to him, brushing dirt and gravel off her scraped face. Soot and ash fell all around them, and there was a blinding flash of light that Dean saw reflected in Castiel’s eyes. Thunder sounded. “She can’t breathe! She can’t breathe!”

Castiel didn’t argue. He pressed two fingers to Jody’s forehead, eyes glowing blue, golden-white light surrounding him, and the air seemed to vibrate, a ringing in his ears.

The scrapes on Jody’s face healed, the skin miraculously regenerating in a matter of seconds, stitching itself back up. Nothing, nothing, the rush of air, the ringing, the ache Dean felt in his body, the desperation. And then Jody heaved in a huge gasp of air, eyes opening.

She said nothing, just held onto Dean and cried.

His injuries ached even more, and somehow he knew something was coming. The noise of the fire had died down, but now lightning struck the ground near them, making their hair stand on end. Dean screamed in shock, clambered to his feet and gathered Jody’s shuddering form into his arms.

Sam raced over, and it began to rain, beginning to wash away how horrific he looked.

“We gotta get out of here!” he cried over the clap of thunder that sounded right above them.

Dean didn’t argue, just nodded his head at his gun, and Castiel hurried to retrieve it before racing to the Impala with them. Without a thought, Dean awkwardly dug through his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Sam. He easily caught them, and went around to the driver’s seat while Dean put Jody in the back.

“Cas, get in!” he yelled when he realized his friend was standing there.

He didn’t argue, didn’t say anything. His eyes glowed blue again, the shadows of his featherless wings showing through into their dimension, huge behind him. Castiel threw himself on top of the Impala, broken wings wrapping around it.

Lightning struck a fraction of a second later, white, and brilliant, and pure energy. Dean might’ve screamed. He didn’t know. It was so loud, and every part of him was stunned from it, down to the bones. But he thought he heard Castiel scream.

His friend rolled off of the roof of the Impala, onto the hood, moaning, clothes burning, skin smoking. The center of his back looked black through the flames, and then an angry red.

“Holy shit!” Sam cried. “Cas!” He climbed out of the car to retrieve him. The downpour put out the fires quickly, and he grabbed Castiel, slinging one arm about his shoulders, and Sam put one of his  own about his waist. Dean climbed through the car, Jody now curled up in the corner, and he threw open the passenger side door.

Sam got Castiel inside, the angel seeming to barely be conscious, and then he was driving off.

“Where to?” he asked.

Not Jody’s house. If the demons found out she’d survived they’d look there next.

“The high school. We’re getting Alex.” Dean answered. 

“Where’s Claire?” Sam questioned, rain pounding against the windows in sheets, windshield wipers working as fast they could.

“G-gym,” Jody got out. “She likes to-to work out in the mornings.”

Horrible moans were leaving Castiel’s mouth, his head pressed against the window. Dean wasn’t sure Castiel was strong enough to heal himself after he’d saved Jody’s life. Oh god, he’d taken a freakin’ lightning strike for them. He’d saved all of them.

Jody was shaking, and trying to wipe her tears away, but more kept coming.

“Hey, it’s okay, Jody,” Dean soothed, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“But they’re not! Eight, Dean! Eight people died! My people!”

She hugged him, and didn’t let go.

“Jody, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “but I’m gonna need directions.”

She peered out the window, still holding onto Dean, hands clutching at his jacket. “F-first left.”

She continued giving directions, picking up a startled Claire, and then Alex. Dean took control of the wheel after that, Sam somehow fitting himself into the backseat with Jody and the girls. And Castiel seemed to be healing already, his cries dying down. Jody held Claire, who practically sat on her lap, and she held Sam. The two girls stared in horror at the blood on Sam’s face. But they didn’t ask questions. The tension in the vehicle told them not to.

Dean didn’t no where to go that was safe, but he decided to just keep driving. And whenever and wherever he stopped, they were going to plan.

They were going to kill the King of Hell.


	54. Some Say in Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets everyone to a safehouse, and while they recuperate, Dean and Castiel butt heads with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! The next chapter already! I'm honestly surprised I got it out so fast.

The freak storm ended in a matter of minutes, and Sam didn’t know a ton about meteorology, but he figured it had something to do with what he’d done to put out the fire. So Castiel getting struck by lightning was his fault, and the angel had let himself get struck to protect them.

It was awkward being crammed in the backseat with Jody, Claire, and Alex, painful, even, thanks to his long legs and the window and door handle jammed against him. He figured if he didn’t look like a vampire Jody probably would’ve been sitting in his lap to make more space. But at least she was still holding onto him. Claire and Alex had eventually begun to ask questions, asking what had happened, where they were going.

All they told them was about the demons and that they didn’t know where they were going. Sam didn’t mention how it was his fault, he didn’t talk about the blood, didn’t talk about where he’d been or what he’d been doing, but he caught them staring at the amulet almost as much as they stared at the blood on his face that the rain hadn’t been able to fully wash away.

The car was full of the smell of burned flesh from Castiel, but then he was sure the angel was healing himself. He looked a lot better.

As they left Sioux Falls, Dean and Sam talked. Dean explained he and Castiel had been staying with Jody for a few days, and Sam told him he’d used that teleportation spell to get to the station so fast. He refused to tell him where he’d been, who he’d been with, what he’d been doing.

“Where are…?” Dean eventually asked, trailing off, knowing Sam would understand.

“Dead,” he answered.

“Ah.”

Just that little acknowledgement held so much fear. Dean knew that Sam was stronger than when he’d left, and he was frightened, frightened of  _ him _ , of his own brother. So much had happened that Sam didn’t have time to process it.

They eventually stopped three towns over at a safe house a group of hunters had set up way back in the day. It was a cabin, with a living room as soon as you entered a little off to the left. It had a beaten oak coffee table, a saggy black leather couch and chair, and there was a distinct lack of a TV. A small bookshelf was nestled into a corner, holding dusty books that had thick bindings. To the right was a kitchenette: a fridge, an oven and gas stove, a sink, some cramped counter space with a dark wooden breadbox, and a small table with three chairs, the fourth one missing from the set. There was a hallway in the back, which led to a small bedroom, and bathroom, and there were stairs nestled into the corner of the living room, probably leading up to at least two other bedrooms. Jody immediately sat down in the leather chair that was directly across from the windows, showing a view of the flat ground around the house that lasted about ten feet before there was a thick growth of trees, shielding it from view. Castiel seemed fine now, but Dean was still supporting him, as if worried that he wasn’t okay. Alex just stood there, not too sure what to do, and  Claire instantly plopped down on the couch.

She groaned, “God, this place looks so boring.”

“We won’t be here long,” Sam assured her, following in after Dean and Castiel. “We’re gonna end this, and then you can go back home.”

“Yeah, Sam, that’s great and all,” Claire said, “but it’s kinda hard talking to you when you look like something straight out of a horror movie.”

Shame colored his cheeks and he hung his head.

“Sorry. I’ll… I’ll go wash up.”

He shouldn’t have been ashamed, he knew that. But he hadn’t wanted them to see. They didn’t know what was going on with him, what he’d done, what he was, still clearly wanted answers to questions they were too frightened to ask, but the truth was, he hadn’t wanted his friends to see this part of him. Not up close, not when he had demon blood on him, evidence of what he was. They were scared of him, and he didn’t like it. Dean and Cas seemed wary as well.

It wasn’t right. He had felt so good earlier, and now…

And now that high had faded away, leaving him empty.

Surrounded by his family and friends, Sam felt alone.

He went and washed up as best he could, finding a tattered washcloth and towel in a wooden cabinet in the bathroom.

When he was about to go back out into the living area and face the people who had used to care about him, who maybe still did - Sam wasn’t sure - his cell phone started ringing. He let out a groan, knowing immediately who it was.

He picked up, and was instantly met with Rowena’s wrath: “Where did you run off to? You hardly explained, left me with two dead bodies, and a freezing  _ stone _ house, showed me that handy teleportation spell, and then  _ left _ . This is  _ not _ how our arrangement was supposed to be, Samuel.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, glancing at the door, worrying that someone would hear him talking to her. “But something came up.”

“What?”

“Demons went after one of my friends. I had to try and stop them.”

“Did you?”

“No.” He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat. Eight. Eight people had died because of his mistake. “Didn’t get there in time. My friend’s okay though. Well, as okay as can be expected.”

“Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you.”

“That’s… That’s not a good idea.”

“But Samuel-”

“Look, I’ll be over to get you in a few minutes. And then you do the spell. I’m seriously sick of cutting my hand.”

Sam hung up, not giving her time to argue, knowing she might want to.

There was a knock on the door, and Sam recognized the loud thumps very well. Dean.

“Hey, who you talkin’ to in there?”

Sam opened the door after putting his phone back in his pocket. His brother had stripped down to his t-shirt, which was just damp now, and his hair was flattened from the earlier rain. Sam knew his own hair looked a lot worse after furiously scrubbing blood out of it.

“No one,” he responded.

“Sammy, come on. I’m not dumb. Who was it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shouldered past him, saying, “I have to go.”

“Go where?”

Sam turned and glared at him as an answer as he followed him down the hallway. Dean said nothing to that. Just sighed.

“I’ll be back,” he added. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Alex asked, now sitting on the couch, next to Claire, who seemed grumpy about her space being taken up.

“Not important.”

He left the house, Dean shouting behind him, “Don’t touch Baby!”

“I won’t!”

Sam pulled out his knife, ready to do the spell.

 

Castiel felt drained from healing Jody and then himself. But he’d had no choice with either. Jody had been dying, he’d seen it, he’d felt it as soon as he’d touched her. Her left lung had been filling with fluid, the force of the blast having smashed into the inside of her like a hammer, damaging her. That, along with the bump on her head that had been a concussion, had been what caused her to lose consciousness. But she was physically fine now, and so was he. The pain in his back had been like nothing he’d ever felt before. So raw, and filled with energy that all he’d been able to do was scream. He couldn’t remember if his body had spasmed or not, but it most likely had. Still, he’d do it all over again. It’d been to protect his friends. He would have even done it if Sam had been the only one in the vehicle.

Castiel had taken off his ruined and charred coat and suit jacket, which were damp from the heavy rain that had fallen, and was only in the burned remains of his dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Sam had left, he’d seen him disappear through the window, and he knew he’d be back soon.

Castiel didn’t know what to make of any of this. How had a demon attack been Sam’s fault? He wasn’t sure he knew how to blame him for it, and Dean seemed to, but he was pacing in front of him now, hands clenched into fists.

“We gotta find out where Vadrach is,” he said. “Cas, you getting anything from the angels?”

He was, but nothing important. They were just as shocked that the demons had done something so bold, despite their growing numbers on Earth. One of them was already at the police station to look in on what had happened. From what he could tell from angel radio, firemen had shown up, an ambulance, and police from the next county. They wouldn’t find any survivors to talk to.

“They’re looking into it, but don’t know what happened, or what to do.”

“Good,” he muttered sarcastically. “Friggin’ useless.”

“Maybe we should go back,” Jody said, the first words she’d spoken since giving them directions to pick up the girls.

“We can’t,” Castiel reasoned. “If the demons find out you’re alive, they’ll come for you again. More people could get hurt.”

“People aren’t  _ hurt _ , Castiel. They’re dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She furiously wiped a tear away, facing forward again to look out the windows once more.

Claire and Alex didn’t seem to know what to say to her, but they both went over and held onto her. Jody reached up, grasping at their arms.

Then, Sam came back. And he wasn’t alone.

Castiel straightened immediately, angel blade out, as he saw a very familiar redhead following behind Sam, both of them carrying bags with them that they left outside the safehouse for now.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

And then he saw. Sam came in, and Rowena began to follow, but Dean let out a cry and charged at her, shoving her out of the house. Sam ripped Dean away from her, and Castiel followed them out into the cold October air.

“Leave her be!” Sam cried.

“So this is what you’ve been doing?” Dean shouted. “You’ve been hanging out with this evil bitch?”

“Sam, what is going on?” Castiel questioned, voice harsh, gripping his angel blade tightly in case he needed to use it.

“She’s been helping me!” Sam reasoned.

“Sure.”

Rowena scoffed, crossing her arms, “I have.”

“And what sort of help would a witch be able to offer to a Winchester?” Castiel asked.

Dean glanced between the two of them, fury in his eyes, and though Castiel was a lot slower with some human things, he realized what Dean was thinking. He wasn’t sure if he was right.

“Did someone say a witch?” Claire asked, suddenly outside with them.

“Get in the house,” Castiel ordered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Wow. Thanks,  _ dad _ ,” she said with a roll of her eyes before stomping back in, slamming the door.

“So you’ve been sleeping with her?” Dean finally asked, voice not nearly as loud as it had been before, so Jody, Claire, and Alex wouldn’t hear.

“No!” Sam shouted in outrage. “But she doesn’t look at me the way both of you do. I know it sounds crazy, but she’s accepted me.”

Castiel glanced at Rowena, taking a threatening step towards her. She’d helped him a couple weeks before, but if she had hurt Sam…

“Are you sure that’s what this is?” Castiel asked. “She could be using you.”

“For what?”

Rowena gave Castiel a chilly smile, but said nothing.

“Rowena?” Sam questioned, uncomfortable with her silence.

She put a hand on Sam’s arm, and Castiel was surprised when he didn’t pull away. “Of course I’m not using you, Samuel. You came to me for help, and I decided to be gracious. Besides, if your family can’t accept the power you have now, that’s their problem.”

Of all things Sam seemed fine with that explanation. Castiel wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to say it. It wouldn’t matter. Sam had grown closer to Rowena for whatever reason, and it’d take more than a few questions to separate them.

“That’s not what this is about!” Dean cried. “Sammy, you  _ left us _ . You. Left. Why?”

“You know why! It’s-it’s what you found out, it’s the way you look at me look at me, like you’re judging me!”

Dean took a step forward, saying, “I ain’t judging you for that and you know that. I’m judging you for everything else! For turning yourself into something you’re not!”

“I  _ am _ this thing, Dean! Maybe I always have been. So just get over it.”

“I’m sorry, get over it?” he laughed out incredulously. “Sure, I’m just gonna get over the fact that my brother thought it was a good idea to become a vampire and freakin’ immortal because he was scared. And you know what, Sam? How do you feel now? I bet you’re still scared. And you always will be ‘cause that’s just how this shit works. And now, you’re just gonna keep on living, even after I’m dead. You won’t have me, and you sure as hell don’t have me now.”

“Dean-” Castiel tried to interrupt.

“No,” he said, to him before turning his anger back to Sam. “No. You  _ had _ me, Sam. You did. I wanted to be there for you. I  _ want _ to be there for you. But you didn’t believe in me.”

“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty,” Sam spat. “You sure as hell didn’t believe in me either.”

Dean came forward and grabbed Sam’s shoulder in one hand, the other going to his face, eyes now pleading, and Castiel wanted to do the same, wanted Sam to understand how much they loved him.

“Please,” Dean choked out. “J-just come  _ home _ . After this is all over, we can start again. We can take care of you.”

Sam seemed to falter, expression crumbling, hazel eyes tearing up. “Dean,” he breathed. “I… I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid, Dean. All the time. And you’ll just want me to go back to being who I was, weak, a-and-”

“No. No, you are not weak, and you never were.”

Sam lowered his head, tears rolling down his cheeks, and it broke Castiel’s heart. He wanted to go up to Sam, but he now felt like he was intruding on a moment between two brothers, between blood. Rowena took a step back, looking away, seeming to feel the same.

“I wasn’t strong enough, Dean,” he got out, voice rough. “I-I c-couldn’t make him… anyone… I couldn’t stop them.”

Now Castiel glanced worriedly at the witch, wondering if she knew what Sam was talking about. If she didn’t he wanted her out of earshot before Sam said too much. This was private, and it was information Rowena could use against Sam if it she thought it would benefit her.

Sam reached his hand up as if he was going to hold it against Dean’s hand, but now instead he pulled away, and in that moment a chasm seemed to open up between them. Sam was more gone from them now than he had ever been.

“It won’t happen again,” he said, eyes suddenly hard, ice in them. “I’m strong now.” He put an arm around Rowena, telling her, “Come on, I have to introduce you to some people. Don’t try to scare them.”

“Why would I ever do that?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Sam growled at her, which made her smile, and then he led her inside.

Dean just stood there, staring at where Sam had been, eyes full of hurt. Castiel put his angel blade away and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, and Castiel felt like he’d just lost his best friend though he stood in the house a few feet away. He loved Sam, no matter what he had done, what he was going to do, what he was. That was the point of love, to care about someone no matter what, and he still did. He knew Sam still cared about them, but he would never stop running. Maybe this life had become too much for him and he’d snapped. For good. But Castiel vowed to never stop trying, and he knew Dean would do the same.

But it still hurt. Oh, it hurt so much he felt like he might collapse. Dean did, falling to his knees, and Castiel slowed his fall, lowering himself to the ground as well, his arms around him. Dean turned his face into his ruined shirt, shaky breath warm against through the burned fabric. They held each other, and it was all they could do.

 

The first thing they had to do was find Vadrach, and for now, the lines that divided them were less important than the demon who had killed innocents and had nearly killed Jody. So Dean called Crowley once he felt well enough, once he was running on pure vengeance again. He had a hunch about where the demon might be, especially since he’d made a stop at a diner to pick up some food and had taken advantage of the free wifi. The bombing at the sheriff’s station was all over the news, pictures being shown of the deputies who had been killed. And the weather channel was confused by the storm that had happened immediately after, saying there hadn’t been the right type of temperatures or whatever in the area to cause such a thing; Dean didn’t pay much attention to it. But he saw other storms, and they were all over Nebraska. So he knew what to ask when he called Crowley.

“What’s in Nebraska?”

“Nice to hear from you again, sweetheart.”

“Not funny,” he growled out. “What’s in Nebraska?”

“Nothing,” the former king answered. 

Something in Dean’s gut told him he was lying. “Then why are there demonic signs all over the place? That’s not a coincidence.”

“Look, you caught me at a bad moment. I was just in the middle of-”

Dean scrunched up his face in disgust. “No, no. Don’t finish that sentence. I don’t care what you were doing, or how freakin’ depressed you are. Vadrach attacked a friend of mine, and I need to take him out. I think he’s in Nebraska, but I don’t know where, and I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“You go to Nebraska, you’ll end up dead.”

“Don’t care. Faced death before. Now cut the crap and tell me. Or is it some big secret? Are you still loyal to Hell, even after they kicked you out and broke you?”

“Dean-”

“Answer me!”

Crowley let out a long sigh, with a touch of dramatic flare thrown in, just as he’d heard his mother do a few times, and then he answered, “There’s a secret entrance to Hell in Kenesaw. I always kept it carefully, but discreetly, guarded. Vadrach can’t get demons out through a Devil’s Gate, he’s not powerful enough, but he might be getting them out that way.”

Dean was shocked by this news, but he took it in stride. “All right. Address. Now.”

Crowley gave it to him, and then said a crude comment about what exactly he’d be doing while Dean went to get himself killed.

 

They planned as they rested up, staying in the safe house through the night, and then into the afternoon of the next day. Castiel was in Dean’s clothes now, his suit not fit for being worn. Though his jeans were much too tight around his thighs. Dean told himself he looked weird and that’s why his eyes kept traveling there. Sam and Rowena had shared one of the rooms, which creeped him out. He had wanted to get rid of her, but Castiel and Jody had pointed out that she could help, and Rowena seemed eager to do so. She was up to something. But Dean didn’t have time to figure out what.

Planning was difficult since Dean didn’t know just how many demons there would be, but Vadrach was the main goal. And he was where Crowley had said he would be. He could feel it. When it was time to go, Jody, and Claire put up an argument about being able to join the fight, but Dean couldn’t let them. Jody had almost died in his arms the day before, and having to go through that again was too much to bear. He had to focus. Jody was still in shock, was nothing but confusion and rage, and Dean knew she wouldn’t be thinking clearly. And Claire, well, she was too young to be getting mixed up in something this big.

Alex eventually calmed them down, pointing out those such things to them, and more, telling them that she wouldn’t be able to go on if they died, that she needed them. Claire had rolled her eyes at that until Alex had given her a hug, and her hard exterior softened, showing the traumatized, frightened girl inside. Dean and Castiel gave each of them a hug before leaving, and Jody hugged Sam, who seemed shocked by it. She looked into his eyes, something there deep beneath them, not understanding of what was going on, not completely, but love for his brother.

“You come back to us,” she told him fiercely.

That stuck with Dean as he drove to Kenesaw with Castiel in the passenger seat and Sam and Rowena in the back, and over and over in his head he thought,  _ Come back to us. Come back to us. Come back to us. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on pacing the next chapter might be the last one. You'll hate me for the ending and will probably want my head on a pike.


End file.
